


The Woman, The Diamond, and The Pariah

by AColorfulMind



Series: The Chronicles of Etheldrea Holmes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Sherlock Has a Daughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 04:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AColorfulMind/pseuds/AColorfulMind
Summary: 3 clues. 3 encounters. Moriarty has a mystery for Sherlock's teenage daughter to solve. While he's distracted by The Woman, Moriarty's plan to burn him is set into action. Etheldrea Holmes is about to discover a 17 year old secret, and her world may come crashing down.





	1. The Speckled Blonde Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to the wonderful world of Etheldrea Holmes. If this is your first time reading her name, then you can read the first two stories in her series, The Detective's Daughter, and Faults in Personality.

Cool, calm, and quiet would describe the morning at 221B Baker Street. A dark haired detective named Sherlock Holmes was sulking in the living room, his light haired flat mate, friend and blogger looking through cases for them to do. Each one was either boring or not worth his time, and so John was getting as equally frustrated. In her room to the left of the landing, was the detective's dark (nearly completely black due to a case about two months ago) haired daughter. Etheldrea Holmes was on her bed, currently reading Rambles in Germany and Italy which kept her from going as insane as the other two.

 The past week there had been absolutely nothing. No new cases or crimes or anything for them to do. The first two weeks of summer break had been exciting for sure, but now there wasn't anything to do, and John had hid his gun so Sherlock was even more in a mood. The last big case they had was just a few days ago when they went on that cruise. Of course, now the owners were trying to sue them, but Mycroft had it all worked out.

 Plus, John had begun a scrapbook (though he wouldn’t call it that) of the cases, well most of them. Right now he had A Study in Pink, The Blind Banker, and The Great Game. And both Holmes had gone out of their way to let him know what they thought. Sherlock had gone for yellow sticky notes to record his responses while Etheldrea had chosen purple.

 The only way she could escape boredom was hanging out with her friend Abigail Grey. Last month, school ended and summer vacation finally began. She wouldn't have to deal with any bullies for a few months, no teachers ignoring her, and most certainly there was a lot of running around London with Abby. Her friends parents weren't too keen on it, but they knew they couldn’t' kept her caged in all summer. They could only pretend she was shopping with her other friends.

 It wasn't like they were searching out anyone in particular, but if she saw something, Etheldrea wasn't going to hesitate. She did try to make sure Abigail was involved as little as possible though, but when danger calls, Abigail was always ready. So far, the girls had alerted the police to three drug rings, two burglars, and one flasher, an event that quite possibly scarred the girls for life.

 From downstairs there was a knocking on the door, urgent and loud. Etheldrea perked up, and set the book down. DI Lestrade was climbing up the stairs, greeting Etheldrea and entering into the living room.

 "A young woman’s dead. We need you."

 "How?"

 "No clue. She’s covered in these red dots, nothing that the doctors can figure out."

 "Break in?"

 "No sign. Her sister and stepfather found her passed out on the floor. She died on the way."

 "Will her family be ready to talk?"

 "The sister will. The stepfather's still at the scene. They're getting ready to leave now. You can question him there. Will you come?”

"We'll follow behind."

* * *

Etheldrea stood with Lestrade, writing down any information they would need. Right now, all they had so far was the victim’s name, and her family who they would talk to as soon as they were finished.

 Sherlock and John stood over Julia Stoner as they examined her. Sherlock pulled out his magnifying glass to look at the speckles that covered her body.

“Do people actually read your website?” he asked John.

“Where do you think our clients come from?”

 “I have a website.”

 “In which you innumerate four hundred and twenty types of tobacco ash. Nobody’s treading your website. Alright then, dyed blonde hair, no obvious cause of death except these speckles, whatever they are.”

Both men had straightened, and Etheldrea noticed her dad looked a bit tense. He turned while John wasn’t paying attention and walked right out of the lab.

 "Hold on, there are some bite marks on her ankles. If I could get a blood toxicology report, we could figure out what it is. It looks like a snake, but how many times do you hear about loose snakes in London?"

 "Escaped from the zoo?" Etheldrea asked.

 "I'll call and see when we get home. Where did your dad go?"

 "Not entirely sure. Just outside I think.” She smirked, "He seemed a bit sullen at what you said."

 "Well, it is true. Yesterday you admitted to me that even the tobacco ash report put you to sleep."

“Come on you two.” Lestrade said, “Miss Stoner’s sister is waiting to give her report of what happened.”

The pair followed him outside the morgue and to a small waiting room where Sherlock already was. Etheldrea stood in the corner of the room, notebook at the ready. Sherlock sat at the table with Helen Stoner, the twin sister of their victim. Her eyes were red but dry for she had been crying a lot recently. But she was ready to talk.

 "Tell me about how you found your sister." Sherlock said.

 "I couldn't sleep last night. I was tossing and turning, trying anything to get to sleep. I was incredibly anxious, and I felt like something bad was going to happen. Around one this morning, I heard the sound of banging from my sister's room. Like, she had dropped something. I didn't think anything of it. She had just come back from the pub with some mates, she wasn't completely drunk but she could have been buzzed. However, a few minutes later, I heard more banging like she had dumped her entire vanity on the floor. I was suspicious and decided to get up and check on her. Our stepfather, whom we live with, he was also coming out of his room. I tried knocking, but she didn't answer. I tried calling her name, banging on the door, nothing. It was locked, so I went to the kitchen to get a butter knife. When I opened the door she was on the floor, passed out and covered in these spots. I went to call for an ambulance, but she was gone before they even reached the hospital."

 "How had she been acting into the past few weeks?"

 "She had been rundown a lot, tired. She was supposed to get married soon, and we figured she had been stressed about the wedding."

 "Thank you, if we need anything else, we'll be in touch."

 Sherlock was out of the room in a flash, leaving the other two behind in his dust. The three of them were supposed to go back to Bart's and wait for the toxicology report, but when they met Molly; she told them he hadn't shown up. A short while later there was an unidentified poison in their victim’s blood stream, and the possibility of it being a snake was looking more and more likely. When John and Etheldrea were back in Baker Street, they found Sherlock on John's laptop.

 "Do you always have to use mine? Can't you use your own?"

 Ignoring the question completely, "I've been looking into the Stoner's history. Their mother remarried when the girls were two, to a Doctor Roylott. Eight years ago, she died in a train accident outside London. Their stepfather is the owner of a cosmetics company. Even appeared on Connie Prince's show a few times."

 Etheldrea nodded, "I think I remember that."

 "Julia Stoner was going to be married to a man named Percy Armitage. I think we should go see them, they could be suspects."

 John said, "Our victim was bit by something, most likely a snake. Why would we need suspects?"

 "It was murder John, I know it was; I just have to figure out how."

 "Well, you do that. Etheldrea and I are going to call around for an escaped snake."

 "If a snake escaped, it'd be on the news."

 John grabbed a dictionary and his phone and set to work. Etheldrea did the same. Unfortunately, no nearby zoo was missing their reptiles, and Sherlock was getting more and more impatient.

 "OK, now that you've had your fun, we're going to go start investigating a real crime."

* * *

Doctor Roylott was a very tall, wrinkly, large faced man with thin crinkly eyes, and red skin. He was sat in wooden rocking chair, a tissue in one hand to blot his face.

 "Forgive me; it’s such a terrible thing. Julia is- was like a daughter to me, I've taken care of her for so long. I held her in my arms while we waited, I tried-. It wasn't enough."

 John said, "Dr. Roylott, could you please tell us what happened?"

 "I thought Helen already told you?"

 "Yes, but we'd like to hear it from your point of view."

 "I had been sleeping when this crashing woke me up. I got out of bed, and went into the hallway. Helen was already at Julia's door and knocked. We didn't hear anything else, so we tried calling her name. Helen went to get a knife, and when she opened the door Julia was on the floor. I tried to wake her up, but she wasn't responding. She was so cold, and the spots or speckles on her skin-"

Roylott broke off into a sob, blowing his nose loudly into his tissue. They waited a minute before asking him anything else.

 "Could we please see Julia's room?"

 "Of course. The third door to the left, just down there."

 Her room was still in its disarray state. The bedding was crumpled on the floor, and near it were a few bottles of lotion. Across the room was an even bigger mess. Bottle littered the area around a mirror. Sherlock bent down and examined the area. Etheldrea saw where their victim had been lying, a section of perfumes and bottles were pushed together. A few other bottles were surrounding the area.

 "She was looking for something." She said.

 "How do you know?" John asked.

 "It could have been an accident, not able to hold herself up, but the bottles tell a different story. Some of these are ways away, like she had thrown them behind her."

 Sherlock added, "The blanket she used, thrown on the floor like that. Look at the way it’s folded. She stood up and it pooled at her feet, if she had tossed it off it would at least be a bit more spread out. I think she realized what was happening to her, and was looking for the source."

 "But, it was a snake or something like one. She had the bite marks on her ankle." John said.

 "Think John, a snake bites you and you wouldn't shout in pain?"

 "Well, maybe she had high pain endurance."

 "Besides, how would a snake get in and out without being seen?"

 "That's . . . you have a point.

 "Come on, I have a few more questions."

 Sherlock walked out quickly, back to the living room where Dr. Roylott hadn't moved.

 "Doctor, do you or your step-daughters have any pets?"

 "No, none"

 "Was Julia adventures, ready to go for a wooden hike or anything outdoors."

 "Hardly. She hates- hated nature."

 "What about animals? Did she want pets; say a dog, cat, reptile?"

 "No, most certainly not reptiles. Her fiancé takes care of a whole bunch. I thought it would cause a big riff between them when. They first started dating, but it didn't. They worked it out, granted she hardly went over there."

 "Would you mind writing down the address? We'd like to talk with him too."

 "Of course, give me a minute." He said as he grabbed a pen and paper.

 He scribbled the address down, gave it to them, and then stood up and walked towards a closet. He pulled out three bottles with a white lotion into them.

 He handed them over and said, "Please, take these. They're not available in stores yet. A token of my gratitude. I've read the blog, and I'm sure you'll figure why my Julia died."

 Afterwards, they left and grabbed a cab to go to Percy Armitage's house. On the way, Etheldrea tried some of her lotion.

 "It smells like jasmine and orange blossom." She noted.

 "Roylott said that Julia's fiancé owned a lot of reptiles. It could be possible she was bit by something over there." John said.

 "If she was, why would she be looking for anything on her dresser?" Sherlock asked.

 "What do you think happened? If we're going over to her finances, aren't we looking for a reptile?"

 "Close. The mystery poison. It could have come from there."

 "We'll see soon."

The house the cab stopped at wasn’t huge, or small. It was slightly run down, and seemed to be in the middle of repairs to the roof. Sherlock and Etheldrea stood back while John rang the doorbell.

 _“Come in.”_ was the muffled response.

The group opened the door and walked inside. The entrance way was slightly dim as thick multicolored curtains covered the windows. A bright red rug lead the way down the hall where they heard muffled banging, like boxes being dropped on the floor. They started to walk in that direction, but Etheldrea’s boot heel caught and she fell into the wall and hit the curtain.

She felt a weight drop onto her shoulders and thought it was the curtain, but that was wrong since the lighting had not changed. John had just sworn, and Sherlock was holding his hand up to tell her to stop and stay still. Both looked remarkably worried, and Sherlock nodded for her to look down.

Cautious, she lowered her gaze and came face to face with the hissing, black and brown snout of an Adder.


	2. The Speckled Blonde Part 2

Etheldrea didn’t move an inch. The snake began to drape it’s self around her neck, not at all constricting her. Then it lifted it’s head to her cheek and licked her.

At that moment, a very bushy bearded brunette man came dashing in. He grabbed the snake which wrapped itself around his arm. He looked back and forth apologetically at the three of them. The beardy man was very thing, dressed in a ragged brown shirt and blue jeans. He also had a red scratch mark across his forehead. Despite the smile, which seemed rather fake, his eyes were rimmed red.

“Sorry for the scare, Lucy loves climbing, but most of the time she’s not very good at hanging on. Now, who are you?”

 “I’m Sherlock Holmes. This is Dr. John Watson, and Etheldrea Holmes.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Percy Armitage. I thought you might have been my mate Robert. He said he was coming over today for- well, he said he was coming over today. Can I help you with anything?”

“We’d like to talk to you about Julia.”

“Ah, right. Follow me; we can talk in the living room.”

Mr. Armitage led them down the hall and into a room with a few brightly lit tanks that each held a snake. He told them to take a seat on the couch in the room while he went to another room and put “Lucy” back in her own tank. He came back and took a seat across from them.

“Again, sorry about Lucy. She’s always escaping. So, what do you want to know?”

“How often did you see Julia in the past few weeks?”

“Often enough. We’d meet after work four or five times a week and go to her house for dinner. I’d call her on the days that we didn’t see each other.”

“Her house? Never here?”

“Nah, she hated the snakes. Creeped her out a bunch. I was starting to move all of them into the back room for when we were . . . married.”

“When was the last time she was here?”

“Around midnight last night. She had just been drinking with her friends. She dropped off some papers for me.”

The three of them looked at each other, Sherlock with a smirk on his face.

John asked, “On her ankle, we found two suspicious marks. Is it possible that Julia was bitten by one of the snakes?”

“No, not at all. She would have told me.”

“Do you have any snakes that would have gotten outside?”

“Not at all. None of mine like to go outside.”

Sherlock stood up, and asked harshly, “Then what could have happened?”

Narrowing his eyes, Percy Armitage stood up, “Are you implying something?”

“Oh I don’t know. It just seems suspicious that your fiancé dies of a snake bite, and you happen to own a lot of snakes. What about Lucy? She’s an Adder. I doubt she’s the only poisonous snake you’ve got. What of that scar on your face, looks like someone fighting back.”

“I would never hurt Julia, never. I love her! Lucy’s harmless. All of the snakes are. And this scar? Hit my head against a picture frame in the kitchen. My mate Ben can tell you that, he was here for most of the night, saw Julia too. He didn’t leave until about three. Mr. Holmes, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

John stood up and quickly got between both men, nodding towards Percy.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Armitage. I never intended-“

“Just get him out.”

The three left just as a man came up to the door. Probably the friend Mr. Armitage had been expecting. Down the road, Sherlock called for a cab, looking infuriated.

“It _had_ to be him, I was so sure.”

“But it’s not, dad. There’s something we’re missing.”

“Yes, but what!?”

* * *

The next few days were stressful to say the least. Sherlock was completely convinced it was murder. Something didn’t sit right with him, and he was nothing but an irritable bastard. He was wearing John, and especially Etheldrea out.

They had talked with all of the friends Julia had been out with, and none of them had the right motive, or desire to kill her. Percy Armitage was definitely out, and every other suspects they had hit a brick wall. Several times they talked with Helen Stoner about Julia, but nothing new ever turned up. Julia had kept a rather unchanged schedule, and never did much else. Especially since she had been feeling ill, the fact that she had gone out with friends had been a rare treat for her.

All day they had been running around, trying to find anyone and their brother who knew was connected to Julia and if they had snakes, poison, or motive to kill. Nothing had turned up, not even with help from Sherlock’s Homeless network. They hadn’t stopped to eat, and John was getting cross. He had practically threatened Sherlock that if he didn’t get to eat soon, all manners of weapons, experiments, and technology would be thrown out the window or hidden. No gunshots, experiments, or cases.

John was the only one who ordered anything. Sherlock sat quietly, his hands in a prayer position as he thought.

“Aren’t you hungry Etheldrea? You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. And even then, that was little.” John asked her.

She shook her head, “I’m not hungry.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure.”

“Yes!” she practically shouted, and then pinched the bridge of her nose, “Sorry. I am sorry. I’m fine, just tired.”

Sherlock looked at her sharply, taking in her appearance and movement. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she had dark bags under them. One hand was lightly shaking while the other was holding hear head, indicating a slight headache.

The moment John paid his bill; Sherlock dragged them out and to Helen’s apartment. The poor woman was sitting with one hand on her head, glaring annoyed at the Detective as he asked her the same questions again.

“She never deviated, not once?”

“No.”

“She hadn’t mentioned anyone suspicious?”

“Not once.”

“She didn’t receive any weird phone calls, letters, anything?”

“No! Mr. Holmes, I’ve told you everything I know. Please, even the police are beginning to-“

“I’m better than the police Miss Stoner.”

She stood up and went to grab a bottle of aspirin. Snippily, she replied, “So you’ve said. But you’re asking the same thing, and I’m giving the same answer. We aren’t getting anywhere, are we?”

Her tone shocked herself a bit, as she closed her eyes and took a breath.

“I’m sorry Mr. Holmes. You’re only trying to help. I’ve just not been feeling well these past few days.”

“How?” Etheldrea asked.

“Just run down, tired.”

“Like your sister.”

“Like you, Etheldrea.” Sherlock said.

“But neither of us was bitten by a snake.”

“Unless the bite was faked to throw us off.”

Helen’s eyes went wide, and her hands started shaking. The thought that she was next terrified her.

Sherlock suddenly stood up, “I have an idea. Miss Stoner, I need to know a few things.”

“What?”

“First, when will your stepfather be home?”

“I’d say not until well after midnight. Ever since . . . he’s been out and about, hardly stops by home anymore. Only to check on me.”

“Good, I don’t want anyone walking in on us. I need to do a walkthrough of Julia’s room. I need to know everything she did before and after she went out.”

“Alright. Nothing’s been moved, not since . . .”

“Perfect. There’s a poison. Somewhere in this house. We’ve been here enough times that Etheldrea could easily come into contact with it.” He said.

“What?” Etheldrea asked.

“Both you and Miss Stoner display the same symptoms. While we’re here, I need you to recreate every movement you’ve made in that house.”

“If they’ve been poisoned, who’d put it there?” John asked.

“I have a guess. I won’t be sure until I have the evidence.”

Sherlock had Miss Stoner show him through everything Julia did and would have done the night. John in turn followed Etheldrea while she made note of everything she may have touched.

“Nothing much, actually. I walked in, and head straight for the kitchen. While we’re here, I don’t move or anything. I sit in listen. I don’t understand what could have happened.” She muttered, mainly to herself.

“You haven’t eaten anything. You’ve barely touched anything. How can it be that you’re just as worse as Helen when she’s been here longer than you?” John asked.

“I’m not sure. Maybe whatever it is has been replenished.”

“Ok. So, you walk in. Do you touch the walls, or bumped a shelf, coat?”

“No, nothing. I keep my hands to myself.”

“What about in the kitchen?”

“On the table, the chair, I think only once I stood and went to the sink.”

“What about the bathroom?”

“Twice.”

“Ok, what soaps did you use, if you used any I hope?”

“I did. Just generic store brand pumps. But it was nearly new when I used it.”

Sherlock called both their names and in Julia’s room they found him examining all the bottles in the room. When he saw them enter he began throwing random bottles their way. Miss Stoner appeared with a paper bag to hold more.

“We’re taking all of these to Bart’s.” he said as he grabbed bottles and placed them in his coat.

“The police aren’t going to like you taking evidence.” John said.

“They also aren’t going to like two more dead women, so I think we should choose our battles wisely. Miss Stoner, would you like to accompany us? Results most likely won’t be in until early tomorrow morning, but you’d have an answer quite fast.”

“No thanks. I believe I’ll stay with one of my friends tonight. However, if you give me a time, I’ll meet you there.”

“Five am?”

“Sure. I hope you find something Mr. Holmes.”

* * *

Julia Stoner had to have had nearly a hundred bottles of perfumes, lotions, body gels, shampoos, conditions, and more. Going through the process of analyzing everything was a job that only Sherlock and Molly were working on. John had attempted to help, but after an hour, he started to fall asleep at the microscope, annoying Sherlock.

 Etheldrea also had attempted to help, but it seemed she was getting worse and worse, and so when her hands slipped a bit, and she dropped a slide (only on the table, not able to break it) Sherlock told her and John to go back to Baker Street, and to come back when they were fit enough to help. However, Etheldrea was determined to help, and thus began an argument between the father and daughter.

“You’re not needed if you’re going to be dropping everything, and hardly able to keep your eyes open.”

“I just need some coffee, maybe an aspirin.”

“You need to leave.”

“I’m fine!”

“Etheldrea, don’t argue with me.”

“I am perfectly fine!”

He scoffed, “Hardly. Have you seen yourself? You need to go back to Baker Street.”

“I won’t. One slip up is hard- hardly-” she began to sway.

John was close by and swiftly grabbed her, lowering her to the ground. Molly was by her side in an instant, also worried. She tried to push them away and say she was fine, but was stopped when he grabbed her by the wrist. Then she noticed what decorated the back of her hand. Red speckles.

She twisted her hand out of his grip, pushed back her sleeve, and looked it over. Her backhand, her palm, and her forearm.  None went past her elbow, and she immediately knew what the cause was.

“Let me up.” She said.

Molly helped steady her, and Etheldrea began searching through her messenger bag. She shook her head, murmuring to herself, _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ From the bag, she pulled out a clear bottle, half empty of a white lotion. She tossed it to Sherlock.

“While you’re at it, try testing that.”

“Is that the lotion the girl’s stepfather gave you?” John asked.

“Yes. I’m sure when I look at my legs; there’ll be more speckles also.”

“But why would Dr. Roylott want to poison you, or his stepdaughters?”

“We’ll have to ask him.” She shook her head again and huffed, “Can I please go six months without almost dying?”

In the end, John and Etheldrea did not go back to Baker Street. John slept at a table, his head probed up by his hand. Etheldrea thoroughly scrubbed her skin before taking a seat at the table once more. It was half an hour before they had some story of the poison.

It was still unknown, some snake belonging god knows where. But it had been placed in the lotion give to Etheldrea, and to John and Sherlock who had never touched them. Also, it was in the bottle of bubble bath that had been sitting on Julia’s vanity. Perhaps, like Etheldrea, she had seen the speckles locations, and immediately knew what was to blame. She had been searching for the bottle, wanting to use it as evidence. It would take some time, but the effects would eventually wear off, and the girl’s would be fine.

They only had to wait another hour for Helen Stoner to arrive. When she did, Sherlock didn’t exactly break the news to her gently. She had a bottle of body wash from her stepdad that she had been using every day, though not as much as it appeared Etheldrea had used with her lotion. The contents should have been safe; her stepfather had assured her that. But it seemed lying was nothing new to Dr. Roylott, and Helen could scarcely believe her stepfather had murdered her sister, and was attempting to do the same to her.

Sherlock walked briskly out of the lab, leaving a sobbing Helen to be comforted by Molly. Etheldrea followed behind, giving an apologetic half-smile, while John shook his head. He told Helen that they would go talk her stepfather and bring him in. Then he ran after pair as they got a cab. Once there, Sherlock took the key he had “borrowed” from Helen, and opened the door.

* * *

John was typing up the last of the case on his blog. Sadly, it had a tragic end. Sherlock had found Dr. Roylott hanging from a light fixture in the kitchen. Suicide no doubt about it. Utterly frustrating Sherlock, there was no note and no indication why he had put poison in the lotion and gels.

Said man walked into the room, holding a sandwich and the newspaper. Curiously, he walked over to where John was and looked at the title. Immediately, he scowled.

“Oh for god’s sakes, The Speckled Blonde?” he asked through a mouthful.

Then he went and lay down on the couch, ignoring them for a while. Etheldrea, sat across from John, smirked as she filled in a logic puzzle. In a matter of days, she was back to normal, and the spots disappeared soon after. Sadly, the sharpie she had used to connect all of the dots still littered her skin. At the time she did, she was still worn from the poison, and hardly cared that she was using a sharpie. Just utterly bored with some form of writing utensil near her. John was relentlessly picking on her about it, and Sherlock never said anything, but smirked every time he saw her arms.

Soon after he hit enter, John refreshed the page of his blog, and was immediately surprised at the amount of hits it had.

“Over a hundred within a minute.” He said proudly.

Etheldrea rolled her eyes and thought sarcastically to herself.

_Next we’ll be appearing on the news._


	3. Internet Fame and Italy

And that’s exactly what happened. Clients started coming in from everywhere. There were a few good cases, like a man being killed by his flat mate. There were a few bad ones, like when a man who had driven his ex-girlfriend to suicide disappeared. Then, there were dreadfully boring ones.

* * *

_“My wife’s been spending a very long time at the office.”_

_“Boring.”_

* * *

_“I think my husband might be having an affair.”_

_“Yes.”_

* * *

_We are prepared to offer any sum of money you care to mention for the recovery of these files.”_

_“Boring.”_

* * *

And a couple of weird ones.

* * *

_“She’s not my real aunt, she’s been replaced. I know she has. I know human ash.”_

_“Leave.”_

* * *

And then there were a few that Etheldrea was prepared to smack her dad upside the head.

* * *

_“They wouldn’t let us see Granddad when he was dead. Is that ‘cause he’d gone to heaven?”_

_“People don’t really go to heaven when they die, they’re taken to a special room and burned.”_

_“Sherlock.” John warned._

_Face palming, Etheldrea muttered, “Dad.”_

* * *

But there were a couple interesting ones too. Something rather exciting happened on the first day of August. Lestrade had called them in on a body that should have been on a plane.

“There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday.” Lestrade explained, “Everyone dead.”

“Suspected terrorist bomb. We do watch the news.” Sherlock said.

“You said ‘boring’ and turned over.” John stated.

Lestrade showed them the body in the boot, “Well, according to the flight details, this man was checked in on board. Inside his coat he’s got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, even one of those special biscuits. Here’s his passport, stamped in Berlin airport. So this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday, but instead he’s in a car boot in Southwark.”

“Lucky escape.” Sherlock said as he examined the dead man.

“Any ideas?”

“Eight so far . . . Okay, four ideas . . . Maybe two ideas.”

* * *

“No, no, no, don’t mention the unsolved ones!”

“People want to know you’re human.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re interested.”

“No they’re not. Why are they?”

“Hmm. Look at that. One thousand, eight hundred, and ninety-five.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I reset that counter last night. This blog has had nearly two thousand hits in the last eight hours. _This is_ your living Sherlock, not two hundred and forty types of tobacco ash.”

“Two hundred and forty three.” He muttered darkly, slipping his goggles on and lighting the torch.

Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen, and a while later, the smoke detector near John’s room was going off. John made a beeline for upstairs while Etheldrea went for Mrs. Hudson downstairs. The girls waited outside until both Sherlock and John came out, the latter seething. Sherlock had set fire to John’s dresser and started one of the drawers on fire.

* * *

Nothing seemed to calm down after that. For the next two weeks, it was case after case. Etheldrea hardly saw Abigail anymore, although they texted each other constantly. They were getting more and more known around London, and eventually the country. They were being called the web detectives.

“So what’s this one? ‘Bellybutton Murders’?” Sherlock asked as they left a theater.

“The Navel Treatment?” John suggested, earning a groan from Sherlock.

Lestrade met them as they made their way to the side exit, “There’s a lot of press outside, guys.”

“Well, they won’t be interested in us.”

“Yeah that was before you were an internet phenomenon. Couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you three.”

“For God’s sake!” Sherlock said.

Noticing something, he ducked into a room and grabbed something. He then tossed an item each to John and Etheldrea. A rather ugly, dark blue, teardrop shaped hat with black accents, it looked like something to have been worn during the Victorian era.

“Cover your face and walk fast.”

“Still, good for the public image, big case like this.” Lestrade said.

“I’m a private detective, the last thing I need is a public image!”

The next day, the headlines on the newspaper announced them as Hat-man, Hat-Girl, and Robin. Etheldrea loathed it completely, and put full blame on Sherlock. A few days later, she was still glowering. It didn’t stop her, however, from watching him like a hawk. He and John had both been planning something. Just yesterday she had come back to Baker Street after a much needed day out with Abigail.

Sherlock and John had been talking in hushed whispers, arguing over what appeared to be a map, but of where she didn’t know because it had been ducked out of her site as soon as she cleared the door. A few days before that, she noticed her father doing calculations almost like he had been comparing prices to something.

Today it seemed harder for John to try and keep whatever they were doing secret. He was trying far too hard for everything to seem normal, and his only salvation was when Sherlock entered the room.

Etheldrea saw that he was carrying a thin, white paper, purple ribbon wrapped present. He set it down on the table in front of her, and both he and John looked expectantly at her.

 Curiously, she asked, "What for?"

 "It’s not about the hat. That was hardly my fault. It’s an early birthday present."

 "Where are we going?" She asked as she opened the paper.

 "What makes you think that?"

 "My birthdays not until November. You know I like to spend the entire day out. If it was an object, you'd give it to me either that early morning or late night. If it was a dinner or something like that, it'd be a few days before or after. School starts in about two weeks, always a nice time for a vacation. Not to mention the map I saw you too had."

 She lifted the top and took out a folder, and a small booklet that she recognized as a travel plan that she had created a very long time ago. Upon opening the folder, she found an itinerary version of the booklet, and brochures showing breathtaking views of countryside’s, busy cities, and people in colorful masks and costumes. Upon seeing them, she knew exactly what where they were going, but it didn't stop her from taking out the train ticket and ghosting her hands over them almost unbelieving of it.

 "Italy?" She asked, looking up with a large grin.

 Sherlock smiled also and nodded, "Yes. Forgive me for sneaking out your travel planner, but I needed to know exactly what we were doing."

 Etheldrea shook her head, looking back at the ticket, "No problem, not at all. This is- two weeks? Really?"

 "Yes, is that alright?" He asked.

 "It's perfect, but what about cases? You'll go crazy."

 "Not according to that itinerary. Plenty of things to see, do, and who knows, anyone could die suspiciously. It seems the three of us won't have a moment's rest."

 "Three?" She asked excitedly, "John, you're coming too?"

 He smiled, "Of course. We all need a vacation.”

* * *

Etheldrea was nearly positive she was dreaming. She had wanted to go to Italy for as long as she could remember and now here she was, standing on a balcony in Hotel Gabrielli Sandwirth, overlooking the docks, and feeling the sun shine on her face. Looking down she saw people moseying about, eating and shopping, and boats sailing thorough brilliant blue water.

“Well,” Sherlock asked, coming out to stand by her, “Like what you see?”

“ _Like_? It’s absolutely beautiful here. I wouldn’t trade anything for this.”

“And just think, we’re still going to see Florence and Rome.”

She bounced a bit on her toes, “I know! I’m so excited. Dad, this is amazing, thank you.”

“Of course,” he said smiling, “Now come on. We’ll see if John’s ready, and then we’ll go see what this art festival is all about.”

A while later, they were walking to Terrazzera Plaza. Etheldrea was turning in circles as she walked, trying to take in everything she saw.

“So, Terrazzera Festival of the Arts today, what’s tomorrow?” John asked.

“Touring the canals, maybe some shopping.” Etheldrea said, “Then the next day we’re going to St. Mark’s Square. We’re going to see Campanile. I hope we can hear the bells, I bet they’ll be beautiful!”

The plaza was filled with people dancing, drinking, and having fun. The performance dancers, artists, and musicians were spread around the edges and center by some trees. As the sun was setting, the area glowed gold and red accompanied by colored lights. A large group of people had begun dancing in a circle, and Etheldrea was eager to join. But John had stated towards a food vendor, and she realized how hungry she was. The trio grabbed some food and wandered around, watching dancers, listening to music, and admiring the paintings and sculptures on display.

Soon after they were done, Etheldrea found the circle had broken apart and everyone was dancing with their friends now. Luckily for her though, Sherlock took her hand and pulled her towards the center, spinning and waltzing around with John on looking, and taking pictures. In no time, he was pulled into the dance with them.

When they finally got back to their hotel a few hours later, both Etheldrea and John were visibly beat but all three were fast asleep within minutes. The next morning brought the three of them on an entire tour of the city, and once again that night they all fell fast asleep.

St. Mark’s Square was next, as was Campanile. Like she had hoped, the bells were ringing as they waited in line for the lift. Ringing right above the crowd, they were incredibly loud but also made a wonderful music. Everyone was looking up above, and didn’t the notice the two man by the lift that seemed to be having an argument. Etheldrea however, was distracted by them and watched as one man shoved another, hard enough that something fell out of his hands, but not enough to cause attention. Then, the doors opened and they were gone.

A few minutes later, and the bell tolling had stopped, the three were next to board the lift. Etheldrea looked towards the ground and noticed very close to the doors, three tiny white ovals, each no bigger than a finger nail. She bent down and picked them up to find cameo jewels.

“Look at this.” She said.

“Where did those come from?” John asked.

“I saw two men arguing. I think one of them dropped these.”

“Well, we’ll find them and give them back.”

At that moment, the doors opened and a crowd pilled in. Up in the top of the bell tower, the view of the entire city surrounded them. From one side, Etheldrea saw the islands and water, and from another nothing but rooftops. Over another, she saw the Square and all its activity buzzing about. However, once again, she was distracted by two men arguing, the same two men.

"Ora vedete che cosa hai fatto? Tre pezzi mancano, ed è tutta colpa tua!" _Now do you see what you've done? Three pieces are missing, and it's all your fault!_

"Ma papà, ho cercato-" _But papa, I have been trying-_

"Siamo venuti tutta la strada da Roma solo a perdere la merce. Cosa direbbe tua madre?" _We came all the way from Rome only to lose merchandise. What would your mother say?_

"Mi dispiace-" _I am sorry-_

"Ha lavorato duro su quei pezzi, e tu li hai perso. Ero abbastanza bello portare qui lo stavano ristrutturando so quanto hai voluto vedere Vencie da Campanilie, e questo è come mi ripaghi?" _She worked hard on those pieces, and you've lost them. I was nice enough to bring you here becasue I know how much you've wanted to see Venice from Campanile, and this is how you repay me?_

The father turned on his heel and walked away. The son, looking dejected turned towards the window, sighing as he looked at a thin, small, wooden box. Etheldrea looked at the cameos in her hand and back at the man, and then walked over.

"Mi scusi signore, non ho potuto fare più di udito", "E 'questa la merce mancante che cercavi? Li ho trovati sul pavimento vicino all'ascensore". _Pardon me sir couldn't help over hearing. Is this the missing merchandise you were looking for? I found them on the floor near the elevator._

"Grazie signora, questo è meraviglioso. Come posso ripagare?" _Thank you ma'am, this is wonderful. How can I repay you?_

"In realtà,, vorrei acquistare uno di questi cammei." _Actually, I would like to buy one of these cameos._

"Certo. Quale?" _Of course. Which one?_

She chose a small charm that could pin to her shirt and paid him.

"Sono assolutamente bellissima. Dove li ottenete?" _They're absolutely beautiful. Where do you get them?_

"Mia madre fa questi. Suo padre le ha insegnato prima di andare a combattere nella Seconda Guerra Mondiale. Apprently spesso praticato l'abilità sul suo tempo verso il basso, e ha fatto molto per il suo equipaggio." _My mother makes these. Her father taught her before he went to fight in World War II. Apprently he often practiced the skill on his down time, and made lots for his crew._

"Davvero? Che è incredibile!" _Really? That's amazing!_

"Sì, è vero? La sua squadra è stata soprannominata la Cammei Vaticano dal momento che sempre li indossavano." _Yeah, it is isn't it? His team was nicknamed the Vatican Cameos since they always wore them._

«Perché Vaticano?" _Why Vatican?_

"La maggior parte di loro ha vissuto e lavorato nella zona." _Most of them lived or worked within the area._

"Emilio, arrivare qui!" _Emilio, get over here!_

"Mi dispiace, devo andare. Grazie così tanto però.” _I am sorry, I have to go. Thank you so much though._

"Certo. Addio". _Of course. Farewell._

"Addio". _Farewell._

John and Sherlock walked up, and the former asked, “I didn’t know you spoke Italian.”

She shrugged, “I learned when I was seven.”

“That’s fantastic.”

Sherlock asked, “That nickname he said, Vatican Cameos. It’s got a nice ring to it.”

“What are you thinking dad?”


	4. A Scandal in Belgravia Part 1

An amazing two weeks later, the real world came calling. School had started up again, and cases needed to be addressed. She hadn't wanted to leave; Etheldrea had the most fun ever when in Italy. But, school wasn't so bad. Sure kids picked on her still, but everyone was now just a bit older, and instead chose to ignore her. She was fine with that, she ignored them anyway. So life got back underway, paddling along at a rather boring pace.

 One Saturday, it was a lazy day for everyone and the three had been sleeping in. However, they were woken by the loud cry of Mrs. Hudson yelling, "Boys, you've got another one."

 Etheldrea woke first, and grabbed the lilac dressing gown on her bedpost, and walked into the living room to see a portly man passed out on the floor. She called for John, started to roll him on his back, and at that moment he start to come to. John hurried down, and together they helped him into a chair. Sherlock finally came out from his room, dressed in nothing but a sheet, and looked the potential client over.

“Tell us from the start. Don’t be boring.” Sherlock commanded.

The man went on to describe what caused him to come here. His car had stalled half-way home. When he had been trying to restart it, he noticed a man standing over in a field some ways away. His car had backfired and distracted him, and when he looked back the man was lying down. He had gone up to him and found him dead, blood decorating the ground around his head, no one else around. He had called the police, and then made his way to Baker Street.

Sherlock took the case immediately, and went to grab his phone. He made a call to Lestrade, and told John a car would be picking him up in a while.

“Wait, just me?”

“Yes. This case can’t be more than a six.”

“What? A man, lying dead, no one else around?”

“No more than a six. You can go. I’ll stay here. We agreed.” He said with an added yawn.

John looked over at Etheldrea and she shook her head, “Sorry, you’re on your own.”

“Agreed? What did we agree on?”

“There’s no reason to leave the flat for less than a seven.”

“I don’t remember this.”

“Maybe you should pay more attention.” Sherlock said, walking back to his room, “Call me when you’re there, we’ll set up a video call.”

“When I’m gone, hit him on the head if he worries the client.” He said to Etheldrea.

“Got it.”

A short while later, the car arrived and John left. Etheldrea began to set up the call, and then read while she waited for John. When he finally popped up, she called for Sherlock and he came back, yawning, still in a sheet.

 _“You realize this is a tiny bit humiliating?”_ John asked.

Sherlock muttered, “It’s ok, I’m fine. Now, show me the stream.”

_“I didn’t really mean for you.”_

“Look, this is a six. There’s no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven, we agreed. Now go back, show me the grass.”

_“When did we agree that?”_

“We agreed it yesterday. Stop! Closer.”

_“I wasn’t even at home yesterday, I was in Dublin.”_

“It’s hardly my fault you weren’t listening. Etheldrea agreed to it, thought she would have told you.” The doorbell rang, and he shouted, “Shut up!”

Etheldrea shook her head, “I assumed you would tell him.”

_“Do you two just carry on talking when I’m away?”_

“I don’t know, how often are you away? Now, show me the car that backfired.”

“He does talk to himself a lot, I’ve noticed.” Etheldrea said.

_“It’s there.”_

“If you’re listening then I’m not talking to myself. That’s the one that made the noise, yes?”

_“Yeah. If you’re thinking gunshot, there wasn’t one. He wasn’t shot, he was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument, which then magically disappeared, along with the killer. That’s got to be an eight, at least.”_

_“You’ve got two more minutes; they want to know more about the driver.”_ A new voice said.

“Oh forget him, he’s an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?”

_“I think he’s a suspect.”_

Sherlock leaned forward, “Pass me over.”

_“All right, but there’s a mute button and I will you it.”_

“Up a bit! I’m not talking from down here! Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?”

_“He’s trying to be clever. It’s over-confidence.”_

 “Did you see him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own. The right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition, low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy, and you think he’s an audacious criminal mastermind?” Sherlock turned towards the client, “Don’t worry, this is all just stupid.”

“What did you say? Heart what?” the client asked worriedly.

Etheldrea swiped her hand on the side of Sherlock’s head, “Client in the room.”

“Not good?”

“I don’t think so.”

He went back to the call, “Go to the stream.”

_“What’s in the stream?”_

“Go and see.”

Mrs. Hudson ran upstairs followed by three well suited men, “Sherlock, Drea dear, you weren’t answering the doorbell.”

The beard man pointed the other two to the bedrooms, “His rooms through the back, hers is past the door to the left, get them some clothes.”

“Who the hell are you?” Sherlock asked.

“Sorry Mr. and Miss Holmes, you’re coming with us.”

As John tried to find out what was happening, the bearded man shut the laptop. A minute later, the men came back and laid the clothes in front of their owners. Neither of them moved from their spots.

“Please, where you two are going, you’ll want to be dressed.”

Etheldrea smirked as she looked at the men, and Sherlock was doing the same.

“I know exactly where we’re going.” He said as he stood up.

“Parade around Buckingham Palace in my pajamas? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She followed behind Sherlock and sat proudly during the drive. When they arrived, they were shown to a parlor room. Etheldrea took a seat on one end of a couch and Sherlock took the other. They didn’t have to wait long before John was shown in. He was confused, and looked to them for an answer, but they only shrugged their shoulders. John walked over, and took a seat in between the two of them. Still confused, he looked around, and then stopped his gaze on Sherlock.

“Are you wearing any pants?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

The silence that had been there since the two Holmes entered was broken when all three looked at each other and burst out laughing.

John cleared his throat, “At Buckingham Palace. Right. I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray. What are we doing you two? Seriously, what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Here to see the Queen?”

At that moment, Mycroft walked in.

“Oh, apparently yes.”

They laughed even harder this time, earning a severe glare from him.

“Just once can you three behave like grown-ups?”

“We solve crimes, I blog about, she literally had to be dragged from a gondola, and he forgets his pants.” John stated, “I wouldn’t hold wouldn’t hold out too much hope.”

“I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft.”

“What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report, a bit obvious, surely?”

“Transparent.”

“Time to move on then.” Mycroft picked up the clothes and sighed, “We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Etheldrea, surely I shouldn’t have to order you. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on.”

“What for?”

“Your client.”

“And my client is?”

“Illustrious in the extreme, and remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous.” Another man stepped into the room, slightly familiar to Etheldrea.

“Mycroft.”

“Harry. May I just apologize for the state of my little brother and niece?”

“A full time occupation I imagine. Etheldrea, I believe I’ve only met you once. You were about six or seven, and even then dressed in your nightwear.”

Etheldrea was muddled for a moment, and then nodded as she remembered, “Oh yes. You had a meeting with Uncle Mycroft once.”

“And this must be Dr. John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers?”

“Hello, yes.” He said shaking his hand.

“My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog.”

“Your employer?”

“Particularly enjoyed the one about the Aluminum Crutch.”

“Thank you.”

“And Mr. Holmes the younger, you look taller in your photographs.”

“I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend.” He walked away, “Mycroft I don’t do anonymous clients. I’m used to mystery at one end of my cases, both ends is too much work. Good morning.”

As he walked, Mycroft stomped his foot on the trailing sheet, causing it to loosen and fall. Sherlock jerked a bit and grabbed it before he was exposed.

“This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!”

“Get off my sheet!”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll just walk away.”

“I’ll let you.”

“Boys please.” John intervened, “Not here.”

“Who. Is. My. Client?” Sherlock spat out.

“Take a look at where you’re standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God’s sake! Put your clothes on! Etheldrea, you too.”

Sherlock turned, and grabbed his clothes, and went towards a closed off room. Etheldrea did the same, and quickly changed into a set of jeans, a plain grey t-shirt, and her brown boots. Then she went back to the parlor room, and sat now next to John, across from Mycroft and Harry.

Sherlock entered soon after and sat down. Mycroft had called for some tea, and began to pour.

“I’ll be mother.” He said.

“And there is a whole childhood in nut shell.” Sherlock replied.

There was an uncomfortable pause before Mycroft went on to describe the employer’s case.

“A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name had arisen.”

“Why? We have a police force of sorts, even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?”

Harry asked, “People do come to you for help, don’t they, Mr. Holmes?”

“Hmm, not to date anyone with a navy.”

Mycroft said, “This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust.”

Confused, John asked, “You don’t trust your own secret service?”

Etheldrea smiled knowingly as her Uncle replied, “Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.”

“I do think we have a timetable” Harry said.

“Yes of course.”

Mycroft reached beside him and set a suitcase on his lap. He opened it up and pulled out some photographs. Etheldrea leaned over and looked at a rather stunning woman with dark hair and pale skin.

“What do you know about this woman?”

“Nothing whatsoever.” Sherlock replied.

“Then you should be paying more attention. She’s been the center of two political affairs in the last year and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist, by having an affair with both participants separately.”

“You know I don’t concern myself with trivia. Who is she?”

“Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman.”

“Professionally?” John asked.

“There are many names for what she does, she prefers ‘dominatrix’.”

“Dominatrix.” Sherlock muttered.

“Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.”

“Sex doesn’t alarm me.”

“How would you know?” Mycroft asked smugly.

This elicited a confused glace from Etheldrea. Unseen by her, Sherlock looked sharply at his brother, almost mentally telling him to shut up.

He continued, “She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. These are all from her website.”

Mycroft handed over more photographs; all showed Miss Alder in very suggestive poses.

“And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs?”

“You’re very quick, Mr. Holmes.” Harry said.

“Hardly difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?”

“. . . A person of significance to my employer. We’d prefer not to say anymore at this time.”

“You can’t tell us anything?” John asked.

Mycroft sighed, “I can tell you it’s a young person. A young female person.”

Sherlock smiled, “How may photographs?”

“A considerable number, apparently.”

“Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?”

“Yes, they do.”

 “And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?”

“An imaginative range, we are assured.”

“John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now.”

“Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?”

“How?”

“Will you take the case?”

“What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, know when you are beaten.”

“She doesn’t want anything.” Mycroft said, “She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor.”

“Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now, that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn’t it? Hmm. Where is she?” Sherlock asked as he stood and grabbed his coat.

“Uh, in London, currently. She’s staying-“

“Text me the details, I’ll be in touch by the end of the day.”

“Do you really think you’ll have news by then?” Harry asked as they all followed him.

“No, I think I’ll have the photographs.”

“One can only hope you’re as good as you seem to think.”

“I’ll need some equipment of course.”

“Anything you require, I’ll have it sent over.”

“Can I have a box of matches?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Or your cigarette lighter, either will do.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“You, I know you don’t, but your employer does.”

Seeming shocked, Harry reached into his pocket and handed over a lighter, “We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes.”

“I’m not the commonwealth.”

John said, “And that’s as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Laters!” Sherlock called as he left.

* * *

Etheldrea looked up as a pair of trousers, followed by a shirt and jacket, hit the wall of her father’s bedroom.

“What are you doing?” John asked.

“I’m going into battle, John, I need the right armor.”

Sherlock appeared at his door in a police constables uniform, “No.”

A moment later, he walked into the kitchen wearing his regular clothes and grabbed his coat and scarf. He called for the other two and they went to get in a taxi.

“So, what’s the plan?” John asked as they rode.

“We know her address.”

“We just ring her doorbell?”

“Exactly. Just here, please.” Sherlock said, paying the man once the car stopped.

“You didn’t even change your clothes.”

“Then it’s time to add a splash of color.”

The walked into an alley way, out of view from any other people. Sherlock took of his scarf and placed inside his coat pocket.

“Are we here?” John asked.

“Two streets away, but this will do.”

“For what?”

“Punch me in the face.”

“Punch you?”

“Yes, punch me, in the face. Didn’t you hear me?”

“I always hear ‘punch me in the face’ when you’re speaking, but it’s usually subtext.”

“Oh for God sakes.”

Sherlock roared forward, punching John straight on his cheek. John recovered and did the same to Sherlock.  Etheldrea didn’t attempt to intervene, wondering just exactly what her father had been thinking in provoking John like that.

“Thank you, that was-“

John attacked Sherlock once again knocking him to the ground, and then placing him in a choke hold.

“Okay. I think we’re done now, John.”

“You want to remember, Sherlock, I was a soldier. I killed people.”

“You were a doctor.”

“I had bad days!”

Etheldrea shouted, “Ok, enough. We have a case to do.”

Reluctantly, John let go. From a new pocket, Sherlock pulled out a white slip of paper, and tucked it in his collar.

Etheldrea stared disbelievingly, “That’s your disguise? A vicar? Really?”

“Well do you have anything better?”

“I’m pretty sure I can play a much more convincing damsel in distress than you.”

“Oh please, you’ve hardly ever been a damsel in distress in your life.”

“And when were you a vicar?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked away. A couple streets down, John and Etheldrea waited off to the side while Sherlock talked his way in. Despite his terrible performance, Sherlock managed to get in, and the two followed behind. Only, Etheldrea would come to find, getting in was the easy part.


	5. A Scandal in Belgravia Part 2

A red-headed woman watched them enter, tight-lipped. Etheldrea tried not to sigh and roll her eyes when she saw the performance didn’t work, not that it would have to begin with.

“I saw it all happen.” John said, “It’s okay, I’m a doctor. Uh, this is my . . . niece. Now, have you got a first aid kit?”

“In the kitchen. Please.”

Etheldrea gave a quick smile and walked in the direction she pointed. John followed while Sherlock was led to a parlor. John searched through cupboards and grabbed a bowl to fill with water. He also grabbed a napkin. Etheldrea looked around for any hidden compartments.

“She didn’t buy the act, you won’t need those.” She muttered.

“Maybe Irene Adler will.”

“Oh please, from what we’ve heard, she’s very clever. Besides, even if the act was bought, we’re practically an internet sensation. No doubt we’re recognized.”

 “Well then, let’s go see, shall we?”

John walked out of the room, Etheldrea following close behind.

“Right, this should do it.”

The two walked into the room, stopping dead in their tracks when they saw who was with Sherlock. Irene Adler, as naked as anyone can be, was stood over him with the slip of white paper between her teeth. She glanced over at them, curiosity in her eyes.

John looked at the bowl, to Sherlock, to Irene, and back, utterly confused.

“I’ve missed something, haven’t I?”

Irene stepped back and took the slip of out her mouth, “Please, sit down. Or if you’d like some tea, I can call the maid.”

“I had some at the Palace.”

“I know.”

“Clearly.”

Etheldrea was fairly unimpressed with the situation and went to take a seat by Sherlock. She took a glance at Irene, but to her surprise couldn’t read anything. Her father didn’t seem to read anything either, judging from his confused expression as he looked at the other three people in the room.

“I had tea, too, at the Palace. If anyone’s interested.” John said, trying to break the silence.

“Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes? However hard you try, it’s always a self-portrait.”

“You think I’m a vicar with a bleeding face?”

“No, I think you’re damaged, delusional, and believe in a higher power. In your case, it’s yourself.”

“Well you’re not wrong.” Etheldrea muttered, earning a glare from Sherlock.

“Hmm, and somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face, I’d avoid your nose and teeth too.”

She looked over at John and he laughed dryly, “Could you put something on, please? Er, anything at all, a napkin?”

“Why? Are you feeling exposed?”

“I don’t think John knows where to look.”

“No, I think he knows exactly where. Not sure about you.”

She stood up and strode over to stand in front of him. John forces his eyes on Irene’s face.

He clears his throat, “There is a young person in the room.”

Etheldrea scoffs, “I’m nearly seventeen years old, and also a girl. Last time I checked, I have the same parts. Not very interesting.”

“If I wanted to look at naked women, I’d borrow John’s laptop.”

“You do borrow my laptop.”

“I confiscate it.”

Sherlock stands up and turns around, holding out his coat. Irene takes it and puts it on, and then sits down right next to Etheldrea.  Sherlock walks near the fireplace, watching carefully.

“You, my dear Miss Holmes, are a bit different then what I was expecting.”

“How so?”

“I’ve been told you’re a carbon copy of dear old dad, but that’s not very true.” She said as she brushed aside a strand of Etheldrea’s hair, “Straighter hair, wider eyes, and less of a touch for dramatics. But that’s not all, is it? How old are you dear?”

“ . . . Sixteen.”

“Shame. Well, never mind, we’ve got better things to talk about.” She turned to Sherlock, “Now, tell me, I need to know. How was it done?”

“What?”

“The hiker with the bashed-in head, how was he killed?”

Everyone was confused now.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“No, no, no, you’re here for the photographs, but that’s never going to happen. And since we’re here just chatting anyway.”

“That story’s not been on the news yet, how do you know about it?” John asked, accusingly.

“I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes.”

“Oh.” He nodded, taking a seat on the other side of Etheldrea, “And you like policemen?”

“I like detective stories. And detectives. Brainy’s the new sexy.”

Sherlock stuttered, “Positionofthecar- Uh, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire, that and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head, that’s all you need to know.”

“Ok, tell me, how was he murdered?”

“He wasn’t.”

Etheldrea rolled her eyes, “Can you please stop showing off?”

“Shut up. You’re as much as a show off as I am.”

“You don’t think it was murder?” Irene asked.

“I know it wasn’t.”

“How?”

“The same way I know the victim was an excellent sportsman, recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I’m looking for are in this room.”

“Okay, but how?” Irene asked.

“So they are in this room. Thank you.” Etheldrea let out a snort at that earning another glare, “John, man the door, let no one in. Etheldrea, if you’re going to be annoying, go with him.”

She rolled her eyes and followed John as he stepped out. John looked around and spotted a magazine a counter near the room.

“See,” Etheldrea said quietly, “That is how you act.”

“I’ll admit, it was better. You could’ve done theater.” He joked.

“Becoming a character, and manipulation are two different things. The fore alarm is up there, by the way. And here are the match’s.”

She pulled out the box Sherlock had given her earlier and tossed it to John. He took the magazine and rolled it up, and then lit the end on fire, letting it burn a bit and blew it out. The smoke curled up, and after a moment set the alarm blaring. Etheldrea covered her ears as John tried to turn off the alarm and douse the smoking magazine.

 _“Alright, John, you can turn it off now.”_ Sherlock’s muffed call came, _“I said you can turn it off now.”_

“Give me a minute.” John called back.

From behind them, footsteps of four men came running down the stairs. There was a loud crack as one shot the fire alarm, silencing it. Then two of them grabbed John and Etheldrea and forced them to stand outside the room, hands over their mouths.

 _“I’d tell you the code right now but you know what? I already have.”_ Irene was saying.

At this, the men barged into the room, forcing John and Etheldrea to the floor. The leader of the group, an older blonde man, pointed a gun at Sherlock and ordered everyone about.

“Hands behind your head, on the floor, keep it still!” his voice was American.

“Sorry Sherlock.” John said.

“Miss Adler, on the floor!”

“Do you want me on the floor too?” Sherlock asked.

“No, sir, I want you to open the safe.”

“American. Interesting. Why would you care?”

“Sir, the safe, now, please.”

“I don’t know the code.”

“We’ve been listening, she said she told you.”

“Well if you’ve been listening, you’ll know she didn’t.”

“I’m assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I’m assuming you didn’t, Mr. Holmes.”

“For God’s sake,” John shouted, “She’s the one who knows the code, ask her!”

“Yes, sir, she also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I’ve learned not to trust this woman.”

“Mr. Holmes doesn’t-“

“Shut up! One more word out of you, just one, and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship. Mr. Archer, at the count of three, shoot Miss Holmes, and then Dr. Watson.”

“What?” John and Etheldrea both asked.

Etheldrea turned her head back, and was greeted with the safety releasing.  She turned back and looked up at her dad, searching for any sign that he knew what to do.

“I don’t know the code.” He said, absolutely serious.

The gun touched her neck, and she sighed, “I think I asked six months, not four and a half.”

The leader shouted, “Shut up!  . . . One.”

“I don’t know the code.” Sherlock said again, anger increasing.

“Two.”

“She didn’t tell me, I don’t know it!”

“I’m prepared to believe you, any second now.”

“Three!”

“No stop!”

The leader raised a hand to Archer, and the gun was lifted off her neck. She could see it, just out of the corner of her eye on her left. One nicely time distraction and she’d have it knocked out his hands. Until then, she watched her dad as he calmly turned, and typed in a key code. The buttons beeped, and at the last one, there were a couple beeps and the sound of the safe unlocking.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Open it, please.”

Sherlock twisted the handle, and then looked back to Irene.

Then, before he opened it, he shouted, “Vatican cameos!”

Immediately, the three ducked, and then a gun shot went off. In less than five seconds, Etheldrea had grabbed the gun, pulled the guy forward to the floor, and smashed his head on the floor, knocking him unconscious. She emptied the gun and tossed it on the floor, and then looked to Sherlock for what to do next.

“That was fun,” she said, “We should use phrases more often.”

Sherlock looked at Irene who had one of the men in front of her, “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” she replied, and then swung and knocked the man unconscious.

“He’s dead.” John said, checking over his now dead captor.

“Thank you. You were very observant. I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.” Sherlock said, as that’s who she was talking to.

“Observant? Flattered?” John asked quietly to Etheldrea.

“Safe code - bra size.”

He blushed, “Ok.”

“There’ll be more of them; they’ll be keeping an eye on the building.” Sherlock said, walking out of the room.

John followed him, but Etheldrea stayed to keep an eye on Irene. A moment later, she heard gunshots coming from the front of the house, and then both of them came back.

“Check the rest of the house, see how they got in.” Sherlock said, pointing at her.

She followed John upstairs, and they entered a bedroom on the right. The maid was lying on the ground, either dead or unconscious. John looked her over and called for Sherlock.  He stood and looked around the room. The bathroom window was open, and there were scuff marks on the sill.

“Must have come in this way.” John said when the other two members of the party entered.

“Clearly.” Sherlock said.

“It’s alright, she just out cold.” John said to Irene.

“Well god knows she used to that. There’s a back door, better check it Dr. Watson and Miss Holmes.”

After a nod form Sherlock he said, “Sure.”

Etheldrea followed, matching her steps with John, and then pausing at the second door, listening in on the two in the bedroom.

“You’re very calm.” Sherlock said, “Well your booby trap did just kill a man.”

“He would have killed me. It was self-defense in advance.”

Etheldrea heard her dad give a quiet cry, “What? . . . What is that? What-“

Next she heard a slap, and Irene say, “Give it to me. Now.”

Etheldrea hurried into the room, and saw her dad on the floor, Irene trying to get the phone from him. Sherlock’s words were slurring together, but he wouldn’t give up the phone. On the floor, she saw a needle with an unidentified liquid in it. She could only piece together what happened. Etheldrea stood in front of her father, ready to fight Irene.

“Oh for goodness sake.” Irene muttered, reaching right and grabbing a riding crop, “I really don’t want to do this.”

Irene swung forward and slapped Etheldrea across the face. Etheldrea grabbed Irene’s wrist and tried to push her back, but she was stronger than anticipated and through her to the floor. Etheldrea reached over and grabbed the phone from her dad. She stood up, clutching it tightly and looked around for escape.

“Drop it.” Irene ordered, attempting to hit Etheldrea again, “I said drop it!”

“I heard you, but I’m not listening.” She said as she tucked the phone inside her jacket.

“It won’t take much for me to grab it.” Irene said.

“Oh I know, this just lets me focus more on running.”

Etheldrea pivoted on her heel and ran into the bathroom. She climbed out the window and ran down the fire-escape. She ran down the alley and took a right, heading for the main roads. She started walking down the street, and ducked into a clothing shop. To her surprise, no one was after, no American men, or even Irene. She waited a few minutes longer before walking out and walking down the road. She couldn’t go back to Baker Street just yet, too obvious. And what was the point in going back to Irene’s place when John could handle everything?

She paused by an alley way, looking down it because she was absolutely positive she had seen someone watching her, but then they turned around a corner. She could do the smart thing and keep walking or the curious thing and check it out. Conscious had her walk, but she didn’t get far when a man in a suit was walking straight towards her. Calmly, she turned and sped up back the way she had come.

From that direction, too, was another suited man, and the one behind her was catching up. That’s when she noticed the entire area was deserted, as soon as she had turned the corner, the area was blocked. Even the road was clear of cars, and had one more man advancing toward her. Her only way of escape was the alley way where she had seen someone watching her, and for all she knew it could be another man in a suit.

“Miss Holmes, I suggest you stop, now!” the one on the street called.

She turned and ran down the alley, turning a corner and ran into-

“Miss Adler?” Etheldrea asked.

She was still in her father’s coat and nothing else. But in her hand she carried a gun, and with her other, held it out to Etheldrea.

“We have to run.”

Hearing the advancing men, she didn’t hesitate, and the too ran off, turning a corner and getting onto a main road. Luck was with them when a big crowd of people were crossing, and the girls hurried to follow. The men were trapped on the other side. Irene took the lead, and turned left down another alley. They ducked and dodged until finally, they were sure no one was following them.

Etheldrea bent forward, hands on her knees, catching her breath. She had let her guard slip for just a moment, and that was enough for Irene to shove into the wall. Etheldrea didn’t have enough recovery time before she felt a hand slip into her jacket and pull out the phone.

“Ah, thank you dear.” Irene said happily, “Now tell that little posh thing the pictures are safe with me. They’re not for blackmail, just for insurance. Besides, I might want to see her again.”

Then she was gone, the phone in her hands, and leaving Etheldrea on the ground feeling humiliated.


	6. A Scandal in Belgravia Part 3

The next morning, Mycroft gave them a _lovely_ visit. The three had been eating breakfast, Sherlock now fully recovered, when he had walked into the room. He didn’t so much as acknowledge anyone else when he asked to speak with Etheldrea alone. The other two didn’t have to wait long before Etheldrea came storming back after yelling loudly enough for the whole street to here “It wasn’t my fault!” When Mycroft entered the room, she grabbed the apple on her plate and threw it at him, hitting his arm.

“The photographs are perfectly safe.” Sherlock said, not bothering to reprimand her.

“In the hands of a fugitive sex worker?” Mycroft asked, also ignoring the hit.

“She’s not interested in blackmail. According to Etheldrea, she wants . . . protection, for some reason. I take it you’ve stood down the police investigation into the shooting in her house?”

“How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied.”

“She’d applaud your choice of words. You see how this works; the camera-phone is her get-out-of-jail-free card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royally, Mycroft.”

“Though not the way she treats royalty.” John added, with a smile and finally getting one from Etheldrea.

Suddenly, the room heard the breathy tone of a woman moaning. John immediately looked at Sherlock.

“What was that?”

“Text.”

“But what was that noise?”

Sherlock ignored him, stood up and walked to grab his phone, and then sat back down.

“Did you know there were other people after her, too, Mycroft, before you sent the three of in there? CIA trained killer, I think excellent guess. My daughter was nearly gunned down by three running from them yesterday.”

“Yeah, thanks for that Mycroft.” John said.

Mrs. Hudson walked into the room, “It’s a disgrace, sending your little brother and niece into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes!”

“Oh shut up Mrs. Hudson!” Mycroft said.

The four turned to him, angry and shouted, “Mycroft!”

“Oi!”

“Don’t you dare!”

Mycroft straightened up and looked to Mrs. Hudson, “Apologies.”

“Thank you.” She replied.

“Though so in fact, shut up.” Sherlock said.

Etheldrea grabbed a nearby pen and tossed it at his head. It missed purposely, and he paid it no mind, distracted by his phone which had gone off again.

“It’s a bit rude that noise, isn’t it?” Mrs. Hudson asked, “And Drea dear, please stop throwing things at your family.”

“Alright Mrs. Hudson.”

“There’s nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see.” Sherlock said.

“I can put maximum surveillance on her.”

“You’d do that to someone other than me?” Etheldrea asked in faux disbelief, “Am I not so special anymore?”

That earned her a warning smile from her Uncle.

“Why bother?” Sherlock asked, “You can follow her on twitter. I believe her user name is The Whip Hand.”

“Yes, most amusing. Excuse me.” Mycroft took a call, leaving the room.

John looked from Sherlock’s phone, to the owner, “Why does your phone make that noise?”

“What noise?”

“That noise, the one it just made.”

“It’s a text alert, it means I’ve got a text.”

“Hmm. Your texts don’t usually make that noise.”

“Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently as a joke, personalized their text alert noise.”

“Hmm, so every time they text you-“

The phone made another moan.

“It would seem so.”

“Could you turn that down a bit?” Mrs. Hudson asked, “At my time of life it’s . . .”

Mrs. Hudson shook her head and left the room. John was still trying to piece together what was going on.

“See, I’m wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn’t it?”

Sherlock slowly raised the newspaper to cover his face, pretending to be engrossed in an article. Etheldrea chuckled to herself, along with John. It seems Irene Adler had paid one last visit.

“I’ll leave you to your deductions.”

Mycroft came back in, talking about Bond air, and distracting Sherlock.

“What else does she have?” Sherlock asked, receiving a confused look, “Irene Adler! The Americans wouldn’t be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There’s more, much more. Something big’s coming, isn’t it?”

Sherlock stood tall and in front of Mycroft who was just a bit taller and just as intimidating.

“Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on, you will stay out of this.”

“Oh, will I?”

“Yes, Sherlock. You will. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend.” He said this while looking at Etheldrea.

“Do give her my love.” Sherlock said as he played his violin.

John laughed to himself as Mycroft left, and then looked to Etheldrea as she picked at her food.

“Trust me; it’s not the worst thing that’s happened.”

“I should’ve been smarter.”

“You should listen to John.” Sherlock said, “No reason to mop about it now.”

Etheldrea smiled slightly, and then stood and went to put her plate by the sink. In her bedroom, she changed her clothes, and grabbed her phone as it began to ring. It was Abigail.

_"Would it be alright if I could stay over tonight?"_

 "Probably. Why, is there something wrong at home?"

  _"No, I just want to hang out. Also, I have his movie I think you'd be interested in. I was babysitting yesterday, and we watched it, and it’s freaky."_

 "Movie?"

_"Don't make that tone, you might enjoy it."_

 "What's it called?"

  _"The Great Mouse Detective. It's a Disney movie, and it's based on this children’s book series which were based on this other book series about these two guys named Sheridan Hope and Ormond Slacker. It didn’t sell well, and eventually the author killed the main character and villain off."_

 "The Great Mouse Detective? You're kidding, right?"

  _"No, seriously, you'll find weird, I'm almost positive."_

 "How weird? You can't get weird than a mouse detective, and talks I'm sure."

  _"Of course. But that's not- ugh, you just have to watch it. Does it sound more appealing if I tell you the detective lives on Baker Street, and wears a hat like your dad?"_

 "He doesn't wear that hat; it was just- detective on Baker Street? His name isn't Sherlock Holmes, is it?"

  _"No, Basil of Baker Street. Look, I'm not telling you anything else. You have to watch it."_

 "Alright, give me a moment."

 Etheldrea walked back out to the living room.

 "Is it alright if Abigail stays over tonight?" she asked her dad.

 "I don’t mind.”

“It’s a school night though; wouldn’t her parent’s want her to stay home?” John asked.

She shrugged her shoulders and went back to her room.

“You can stay. John was wondering what your parent’s thought, what with it being a school night.”

_“I’m telling them I’m staying with a group of girl’s from school. We’re getting ready for an early morning breakfast club thing tomorrow.”_

“Don’t give too many details, lies always have them.”

_“Awesome. I’ll see you tonight.”_

* * *

Around eight, Abigail was over, and the living room was being cleared. The chairs had been pushed back, the TV was pulled out, and John was making popcorn. After hearing what the movie was, John had some interest in seeing it, while Sherlock couldn’t care less. The girls went to change into their sleep-wear, and brought out pillows and blankets to lie on. John sat in his chair and handed the girls their own bowl of popcorn. Sherlock was lounging in his chair, obviously bored but with nothing else to do.

“Are we ready yet?” he asked.

“Yep.” Abigail said as she put the movie in.

It started out with a little mouse girl and her father in a toyshop, which the father owned. Then a bat broke into the place, kidnapping the father.

“What the hell?” Etheldrea asked, “How does any of this make sense?”

“It’s a Disney movie; now look, look, look!”

 _“My name is Dr. David Q. Dawson, most recently of the Queen’s 66 th regiment. I had just arrived in London after a lengthy service in Afghanistan and was anxious to find a quiet place, preferably dry where I could rest and find a bit of piece.”_ The narrative said.

“Mice don’t serve in Afghanistan.”

“Well duh, but it’s a kids movie! But, doesn’t he remind you of anyone?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Come on! It’s Dr. Watson!”

“John? Seriously?”

John laughed, “Well think about it. Come back to London from Afghanistan, doctor, and looking for a place to live. Sounds a bit like me before I met you two.”

The mouse had now stumbled upon the little girl and was going to take her to Basil of Baker Street, the detective. They came to Baker Street, where Etheldrea noticed the address was 221. She looked at her dad who was now watching with mild interest. Now, the famous Basil had been revealed, entering dramatically in a costume, and ignoring the girl’s case.

_“You’ve sewn your torn cuff together with a Lembert stitch, which of course, only a surgeon uses.”_

“Only the Lembert? And the smell? What about the way he walks? His general appearance? A _stich_? That’s all he uses?” Sherlock asked in an irritated tone.

“Well you could tell from my tan and haircut.” John said.

“Also the way you walked. Don’t forget that. Besides, how does he know what Afghanistan catgut’s smell like? He hardly seems like the kind of mouse to go over to a war zone.”

Etheldrea said, “You can’t seriously be getting upset over a mouse’s deductions.”

“I’m not.”

“So, you’re just jealous he figured it out with so few objectives.”

“No! I- Watch the movie, that’s why we’re here.”

Basil had now just shot through three pillows, causing an older mouse lady to burst into the room and start screaming at him.

_“There, there, Mrs. Judson, it’s quite alright.”_

Etheldrea looked at Abigail, “Did he say Judson?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. Doctor mouse, Detective mouse, mouse house-keeper that’s called Judson. He doesn’t have a daughter, does he, that Basil guy?”

“No. No kids. “

Basil was now, very dramatically, mourning the loss of a lead in his case. The little girl, Olivia, was trying to convince him to take her case, but he wouldn’t. At least, not until she mentioned the bat. Basil immediately announced him as the henchman to his nemesis Professor Rattigan. Etheldrea groaned at the name, thinking it as one of the stupidest villain names she had heard. Then the scene transitioned to said villain and the reasoning as to why he had Olivia’s father kidnapped. Afterwards, Rattigan went into a musical number, and Etheldrea groaned some more.

“Do you wonder if Moriarty has any musical numbers?” John asked, obviously joking.

“Why the hell would he do that?” Sherlock asked.

“Confidence boost?”

“I’m sure strapping bombs to people and seeing their fear is confidence boost enough.”

After the song, and Basil agreeing to take on Olivia’s case, the mice went to meet Toby in the apartment above. Toby turned out to a Basset Hound with excellent smell. They were going to use him to track the bat, which led them to a toy shop. Basil found his clues, a fight ensued, and in the end, Olivia was kidnapped.

“We should get a dog.” Etheldrea said.

“Mrs. Hudson would never allow it.” Sherlock said.

“Maybe if we both used puppy eyes, she’d relent.”

“She’d say yes, then a minute later she’d gain some sort of senses.”

“He could be a guard dog, or we could train him to sniff out clues like Toby does. He’d hardly be in the flat.”

“I recall you asking for a dog when you were ten, the answer is still no.”

Etheldrea shook her head, “We’re losing all those benefits.”

As the movie went on, it got a bit more exiting, at least enough for Etheldrea to become invested. Basil and Dawson figured out where the bat had been and hurried there, disguising themselves as a captain and a sailor, they went undercover at a bar. Once there, after Dawson was drugged and another musical number, they followed the bat henchman to Rattigan’s lair.

The two were unfortunately expected, and Basil was discouraged and utterly self-deprecating. He and Dawson were tied to a mouse trap and left to die.  Only after the mouse queen was replaced, Basil snapped out of it and the pair was able to get free. They then rushed to Buckingham Palace, and went to stop Rattigan from taking over the mouse world.

“How can anyone believe that?” Sherlock asked, referring to the robot queen.

Etheldrea replied without looking up from the screen, “They’re mice, they still haven’t learned that mouse traps go snap when the cheese is lifted.”

“Is that your strongest point?”

“Yes, now shut up, he’s getting away.”

Using a flag and some balloons, they were chasing after Rattigan, who had Olivia, in his own balloon ship. Basil jumped on to the ship, and distracted Rattigan long enough to crash them into Big Ben.  Olivia had fallen onto a gear, and Basil saved her from getting crushed. He had gotten Olivia to safety, but Rattigan appeared and beat him up. At first it seemed that Basil had fallen and Rattigan had won, but then the real climax happened, and both Basil and Rattigan were falling through the air.

Olivia was crying for some moments, but then they all looked as they heard metal gears squeaked louder and louder. Then, Basil appeared, pedaling the fan that had been connected to Rattigan’s ship. The next scene showed Olivia and her father saying goodbye, with Basil being much more nice to her than he originally had been. Dawson was preparing his leave, but Basil invited him to stay.

_“And from that time on, Basil and I were a close team. And over the years, we had many cases together. But I shall always look back on that first with the most fondness: My introduction to Basil of Baker Street, The Great Mouse Detective.”_

“Maybe someday that could be you guys, looking back and remembering the good old days.” Abigail said as the end credits rolled.

“I’m pretty sure that already is us.” Etheldrea replied, “At least is me.”

“Yeah but when you’re a wrinkly old women, sitting outside, watching the grandchildren pretend to be a detective like their grandmother and great grandfather.”

“Grandchildren? Yes and how is that going to happen? Wait a minute, wrinkly?”

“You meet a guy, fall in love, have children, they have children, and so on.”

“Ha. Funny. There is no one in this world that would be able to keep up with me. Besides, most of the boys I’ve met are just awful. Now, wrinkly? Please, I-”

Sherlock sat up, a smirk on his face, “I don’t know about that. You took an awful liking to Lestrade’s nephew when you were younger.”

Abigail shot up and bounced on her knees, “What? What? This is the first I’ve heard of this, you have to tell me!”

Etheldrea groaned, “Dad! Why?”

“No, don’t complain! You need to tell me!”

Sherlock’s smirk widened, “Yes, do tell your best friend about your first crush.”

“It was hardly a crush. I was nine, and he had been the only person besides family who had shown the slightest bit of fondest for me, that is before I divulged his parents’ marriage problems to the entire Yard. That was it, no crush. Just happy to have someone close to my age not sneer at me.”

“No, no, no. I strictly remember that little _dreamy_ gaze you had when you looked at him.”

Abigail squealed, “Oh that is so cute!”

“No! Nope, I rejected the word cute be used to describe me.” Etheldrea said.

John laughed, “I don’t know, The Pirate Queen of London was rather adorable.”

Etheldrea turned the brightest shade of red, and grabbed the blanket she had sat on and threw it over her head. She felt Abigail wrap her arms around, and her chin on top of her head.

“I’m not coming out.” Etheldrea said, the sound muffled, “Ever.”

“Don’t sweat it. It’s not like we’re ever going to tell anyone.”

“I know that, but I’m still never coming out.”

“Not even to beat Raquel Downing on the Sociology test tomorrow?”

“. . . Maybe then. I’m also going to beat her in the Law test.”

“Yes. Now, come out! I want to know more about this nephew guy.”

“No.”


	7. An Age Old Secret Part 1

She had woken up early in the morning, excited and ready to go. She dug into the back of her closet and pulled out a dusty brown backpack. She changed from her pajamas into some sturdier clothes, and checked everything in her pack over. The ropes were fine, maybe a little worn that she knew she'd replace them next year. The harness was in excellent condition, and the hooks weren't the slightest bit rusty. Satisfied with everything, she grabbed her jacket, scarf, and computer and then walked to the kitchen.

 Sherlock was sat at the table bent over a microscope. She took a seat opposite him and opened her laptop. It took a few minutes before she was able to hack into her Uncle’s computer and pull up multiple security camera footage. He had special access to some of the cameras that she, Sherlock, and John were frequented in, and then some.

The four screens she needed were conveniently located at the end, and she then hacked into the control frame. Just a little twist here, and a tiny tweak there, and then she was done. Quickly out and off before someone higher than her Uncle would detect her. Now when she went to her destination, she wouldn’t be seen.

After that, she stood and went to make lunch for herself for later on. Then she grabbed a bowl and some cereal, and sat down to eat. John was just coming from his room. He saw her eating breakfast, and was confused when he saw the bulky backpack which wasn't her usual messenger bag.

 "What's up with that?" He asked.

 "Supplies. Everything I need for today."

 "Special event at school?"

 "No. It’s my day off today, birthday and all that. I'm free for a full twenty four hours."

 "Free, as in . . . ?"

 "Uncle Mycroft's security is disbanded until midnight. He's not tracking my phone, no one is following me, and no one is watching me through the CCTV. Well, at least not constantly. I'm going to do whatever I want and the consequences are up to me."

 "Happy Birthday. I didn't know, I would've gotten you something."

 "Don't worry about it John. You didn't need to get me anything." She stood and put her plate in the sink, "Now if you'll excuse me. There's an abandoned library calling my name."

 "Angelo's at nine?" Sherlock asked before she disappeared.

 She smiled, "Sure."

 Then she left, and the flat was silent. Sherlock continued his experiments, and John started his own breakfast. Around eight, Lestrade came running up the stairs with the days distraction, a serial killer case.

* * *

Rendell’s Public Library was half an hour away by cab. About thirty years ago, it had closed down, and was left abandoned. Etheldrea didn’t know if it would be filled with stuff, or barren like the past two she had visited. Although, her occasional scoping of the place led her to believe it wasn’t.

On all four sides of the building were security cameras, the cameras she had altered earlier.  She walked around to the back of the building and stopped in front of the tall fence that used to block the view of the garbage, but now blocked the back entrance.

She set her backpack down, and grabbed a rope and a hook. She secured the knots together, and then tossed the backup over the fence. Then she tossed the hook over and waited for it to catch securely to the fence. She climbed up and over, and then put the grappling hook back in her bag. Her next goal was to get through the door. Easy enough when the only thing blocking it was a few rotting planks of wood.

It was dark, the only light coming from the door. She was cautious when she walked in, constantly aware of everything that could happen. Loose floor boards caved in, weak falls that could all and same going for the ceiling, and of course health hazards like mold and asbestos. Any moment something could fall on her, and she could be dead.

Down the hall, there were two other doors. When she opened the closed one, she found nothing but an old work room, no books or interesting decorations, just a room where filing probably took place. The next door opened into a long office room. There were two arches spaced evenly that led to the main library, while still in the room were remnants of a check out area.

There were books everywhere. They were at tables, on chairs and under them, on the floor, and there was probably more throughout. For the first time in three years, the building actually had something in it! It was a mess, of course it was, and books were out of order and rotting and laying everywhere. But there was something there, and not just old overdue receipts and library staff records.

She walked through the archway, and into the lobby. As she grew closer to the shelves, all mostly filled with books, she saw the whole in the middle of the library. It was decent in size, far longer than her, and only a story long. Fallen shelves were atop the original floor. Around the edges, she could see where the floor was still falling, and so decided to stick to the outer sides of the building.

 She looked around at the titles, ignoring ones that she already had, and some she wouldn’t be interested in. She kept her eyes peeled as she searched through the S section in the fiction department.

“Let’s see,” she murmured to herself, “Sage, Scott, Shaffer- ah! Shelly!”

There wasn’t much, three books in total, and two of which she had. But the one she pulled was a treasure, _The Last Man_ , a book she had been pining for for years. She tried local book stores, but they hardly had anything beyond _Frankenstein_ , and even the hidden book stores, the ones that looked like in movies would disappear after the main character visited, didn’t have it.

She carefully opened the book, pleading that it wasn’t molding. That was a problem she had found the first time she explored a library, with the ceiling being caved in and accessible to weather, all the books had been molding and unable to be read. But here, there was still a second floor that helped with some of the problem, but judging by the hole in the middle of the room, there just might be a water problem somewhere.

“Yes!” she yelled, finding the pages yellowing and old, but still dry.

She set her backpack down and pulled out a large Ziploc bag and stuck the book in it before placing it in her pack. Then she put the pack on and walked around, looking and examining everything. She was journeying around all the shelves, browsing the titles.  There were a few books she had found, but nothing that she desperately wanted to bring back with her. There were few plays she was interested in, and she only kept one, _Proserpine_. She looked over Chemestry books, wondering if her dad would be interested in any, and maybe if John would be interested in the medical.

Long after searching, her stomach growled, rather painfully, and she checked her phone. To her surprise, she had gotten so engrossed in her exploring that it was very late, nearly five o’clock. Now she pulled from her backpack the lunch she had made, and sat down in a corner of the library to eat. She glanced around, taking in everything the lobby had to offer. The smell of book, dust, and wood. Slanted, dying gray light from half-way boarded up windows. The occasional creak and crack as the building settled.

To some, there was no beauty here, just a pile of brick and wood that should have come down ages ago. To Etheldrea though, it was a mystery, a temple, with hidden secrets and treasures everywhere she looked. This is why she loved her birthday. Screw the growing up, the presents, the cake (poor Uncle Mycroft). One day of the year when there was absolutely no one watching her.

It was the adventure, the thrill of discovery that made her remember why she put up with the security three hundred and sixty-four days a year. A year of her phone being tracked, someone specifically watching their own CCTV footage for her, someone constantly following her wherever she was, someone always hanging near the flat. It was for her safety he would say, but it was more likely for it to be keeping his reputation clear. Well, nearly. There’s only so much you can do when you’re linked to Sherlock Holmes, the World’s Only Consulting Detective.

She finished her lunch, put the trash away, and then went to look for some stairs, leaving the backpack behind for now. She wasn’t done just yet; there was a second floor, and possibly more books to look through. Maybe there would be some old records, valuable and ready to be framed on her bedroom wall. She had once found an envelope file containing a photo of Charles Dickens, not a copy, an actual photo from the eighteen hundreds. That was currently hanging on the wall of her bedroom, next to a printed painting of Mary Shelly.

After several minutes of searching, she found the door, though blocked by a cave in. She huffed, and went to find a new way up, but then she noticed something off. She had heard echoes of footsteps all day, the lobby floor was wood. And she had heard echoes again, but, she was standing on a carpet. The footsteps couldn’t be hers, it wasn’t logical. She went back to the lobby, keeping an eye out for a new shadow, or just even a figure careless enough to not hide.

Etheldrea looked around for her pack, not finding it in the place she left it. Already she assumed there was someone else here, and she wanted to get out before she was caught. She crouched low, peeking around shelves and searching in the darkening light. It would be too dark soon and she'd be caught, unable to move around with falling over everything.

 Just as she re-entered the main lobby, she saw it, sitting near the giant whole in the ground. She'd need to be careful, but it wasn't impossible to grab. She walked near, and then began to crawl towards it. It was in her hands and she was pulling back, but when she turned a dark figure was standing over her. She let out a loud yell and jumped back, and then she was falling backwards. Landing hard, she heard laughter and then everything was black.

 She couldn't have been out more than a minute, and luckily too. She only fell a few feet, but going head first could have resulted in much worse injuries. She blinked several times to clear her vision, the wood and books still swirling.

 "That was rather rude." A voice called down, "I just wanted to talk to you."

 Etheldrea blinked back the rest of the blurriness and attempted to get up. Small movement made a few books fall. Her bag was next her, its contents spilled out. Hurriedly, she put them back in, missing _The Last Man_ as it slipped down the pile of books and wood. She looked up, waiting for the black figure to make another appearance.

 She got a rope ladder instead.

 "It won't drop, if you're careful. Come on up. I just want to talk." he repeated, his voice soft and considerate.

 "Who are you?" She asked.

 "Jim Moriarty."

 "Like hell I'm coming up now."

 "But I have a birthday present for you."

 "This isn’t a cartoon, I'm not accepting a bomb from you."

 "She's not a bomb, well not in the literal sense. She's your mother."

 In an instant Etheldrea was scrambling up the rope, launching herself onto safer ground and directly in front of Moriarty. He had a lantern on the ground behind him which glowed a golden light, casting out long shadows and shading him more sinister. He grinned, his teeth bright white and almost sharp, like a cat who caught a mouse. Maybe, she realized, he had.

 She glares up at him, "I swear, if you've hurt her-"

 "So protective of you've never met, so touching." He put his hands in his pockets and walked toward the exit, "You know, it’s rare to find a girl like you. So very rare.”

Reluctantly, she followed him, clutching her pack’s straps tight, waiting for the right moment to grab her phone and send a text to her dad. Moriarty was still talking, still . . . complementing  . . . her.

“You’re so faithful, so brilliant, and so fearless. And also very hard to crack.” The last bit came out like a smirk.

Just outside the back entrance was a black car, engine running and ready to go. Like a gentlemen, he opened the door for her and beckoned her in. She hesitated, glancing up at the cameras that should have been watching.

“Come on sweetheart, we don’t have all night. Only a few hours, and I’m sure you’ll need some time to think after talking with Mummy dearest.”

“What do you mean?”

He smirked, his eyes showing a wicked secret, “You’ll see.”


	8. An Age Old Secret Part 2

Reluctantly, she entered the car, taking a seat as far as possible from the consulting criminal and clutching her bag close. His smirk was still present. She looked out the window, watching London pass by.

“Where are we going?” she asked, not looking away from the window.

“A secret meeting place.”

“And you don’t care that I know where it is?”

“I don’t intent to have it for long; it should be gone the day after tomorrow.”

“I see.”

She didn’t ask anything else, and hoped Moriarty would just get this over with. They’d get there, she’d rescue whoever needed it, and then she’d go home. He had said it was her mother, her very own mother. Etheldrea only had two grainy pictures and a necklace and ring to remember her. They were in a white painted wood box in her closet, probably slightly dusty as she hadn’t looked at them in weeks.

Maybe when this was finished, they’d both go back to Baker Street. Etheldrea would explain what had happened, and then they’d all go to Angelo’s. When she thought about it, she had more and more questions, questions that she often wondered but never put real thought to. She never thought about her mother, had always assumed they’d never meet.

Maybe they wouldn’t meet. This could be a straight up kidnapping, and she’d have to find a way out or wait for her dad to find her.

“Tell me, my dear, what if everything you know about your life is a lie?”

“It’s not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. You can’t lie to me, not convincingly enough. My Uncle can’t even do that.”

“Are you sure,” he repeated, “Anna?”

Etheldrea whipped her head to look at him. She would see that stupid smiling face in her nightmares, she was sure. Moriarty reached a hand indie the pocket of the seat in front of him and pulled out a thing folder. He handed to Etheldrea and gestured for her to open it which she did.

Inside was a birth certificate, two actually, and each were completely identical except for one thing, the name. One was hers, Etheldrea Wisteria Holmes. The other belonged to a girl named Anna Smith, no middle name.

“I- I don’t understand.”

He tsked, “Come now, you’re smarter than that.”

Etheldrea shook her head and practically tossed the papers and folder back to him. She crossed her arms and went back to the window. She would not let him play a game with her.

“Bit of general name, Anna, isn’t it? Not very special or exotic.”

“Neither is James.”

He laughed, teeth still shining, smile still haunting. She wanted out, she wanted away from him, and she needed to escape now! Her phone rang, the text alert going off, and before she knew it, the bag was out of her hands and the phone was in his.

“Will have to postpone Angelo’s until later, serial killer case. You’re welcome to join anytime.” He read off, “That’s just fine. You and I are doing something much more interesting.”

He set the bag by his feet and dropped the phone back in it. She didn’t try to reach for it back, still watching outside. Now, far from Baker Street, Angelo’s, and her dad, the car stopped outside a tall building. It was an older trade building, and a large sign outside declared it to be soon demolished.

Moriarty got out, and started to walk the doors. Almost in a trance, she followed him. He held the door open for her, and she walked in. The place was mostly barren with just a desk and a couple chairs for the receptionist. Whoever they were was gone now, and it seemed like no one else was in the building.

“Take the door on the right.” Moriarty said.

She did as he said and walked up to it, cautiously opening it. She entered the room and found it wasn’t empty of the living. A woman was facing away, standing as she put some items into a box. Her hair was blonde, with two locks pulled from the front and clipped in the back.

Moriarty knocked on the door, alerting the woman of their presence. She turned around and Etheldrea got a real look at her. The white suit she wore was stunning, and made her look very professional. Her eyes were large, and brown, her skin was pale but darker then herself. Etheldrea studied the features, the same that she had studied form two photographs that never did much justice.

Amy Smith had the same eye shape as Etheldrea, had given those to her. Also, her nose shape, just a little turned up at the tip, and softly rounded. Her hair had the same slight wave to it, although straighter at the top.

Etheldrea was speechless, absolutely unable to form a single sentence, a single word. All the questions she had were out the window, and now she couldn’t even say hi.

“I’m sorry, there’s not anything I can help you with. We’re moving tomorrow, and starting up again in the morning.”

“No, no, that’s fine. We’re not here to talk to him. We, well, she, wants to talk to _you_.”

She was confused, “Um, ok. What can I help you with?”

Didn’t she recognize her? Well, of course not, she had only been a toddler when they left, but couldn’t she see her, think of the date, and put two and two together?

“I-I’m Etheldrea.”

She nodded, “Nice to meet you. I’m Amy.”

Etheldrea didn’t stay anything, just stared. Amy seemed to get a bit impatient, and walked closer.

“You wanted to talk about something?”

“Do-don’t you know me?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember meeting you.”

“But, I- I’m Etheldrea.”

Moriarty muttered, his voice a echoing a bit in the empty room, “Are you sure, Anna?”

Amy narrowed her eyes a bit, “What’s your last name?”

“Holmes.”

Amy gasped and then backed up and turned away.

“I’m sorry, you need to leave.”

“But, you- you’re my mum.”

“I’m no body’s mum, never have been, never will be.”

“What? But dad, he told me-“

“Well, he probably lied. Now, you need to go.”

“You’re my mother though, I thought . . .”

“Thought what? That I had just been on holiday? Look, I never wanted a child. Neither did your dad, although it looks like he changed his mind. It’s time for you to go.”

Etheldrea shook her head, “He left and took me with, that’s what he told me-“

“He lied. My parents forced me to go through with it. They were prim and proper, and thought that an abortion was more of a scandal that a pregnant daughter. They watched my every move after that.”

“A-abortion, you were-“

“Your father was even going to pay for it. Would have had everything taken care of, but no, I couldn’t just- And you know what? I had a boyfriend at the time, as soon as I was pregnant, he left. He wouldn’t understand. God, it was just one mistake, and my entire life’s been hell ever since.”

“Mistake?”

Amy scoffed, “Of course. We were supposed to work on a project, your dad and I. We went to a pub, got drunk, and boom a month later I learn I’m expecting. I had to stop school. I was only eighteen; you have no idea what you did to my life! My parents wouldn’t help, they refused to. My mistake, my problem.”

Amy had picked up the box and was going to leave. Etheldrea was rigged until Amy passed her by, and then she turned and reached out.

“Wait! Please, I- I don’t understand.”

Amy sighed irritably and turned back, “I think I just told you everything.”

“But the ring, and the necklace, he said they were from you.”

“Ring? Necklace? Oh, those stupid things. It was part of the project we were working on. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“But-“

“Don’t contact me again. I’m not interested.”

“But-“

Moriarty said, “There’s a car outside, it’ll take you ever you want Miss Smith.”

“Thank you.”

Amy was gone, and Etheldrea was lost, still muttering quietly, “ _I don’t understand, I don’t understand!_ ”

Moriarty walked up and placed a hand on her shoulder, "What’s not to understand? You were a mistake. Your father didn't even want you, no. No. He wanted to send you to the nearest orphanage. He changed his mind, but he still wanted to."

Etheldrea felt her blood boil now, rushing through her veins.

She turned on him shouted, "You're lying!"

 "I'm not, ask him yourself. Tell me sweetheart, what does it mean when you can trust the villain more than the hero?"

He had never stopped smiling, taking joy in watching her life fall apart.

"Happy Birthday Etheldrea. I'll keep in touch." He called as she left the room.

She ran out of the building, and dashed blindly down the street. She needed to get away, away from the city, and the noise. It was too much, too loud; she needed air and quiet, and a place to think. She didn’t want to run away, that wouldn’t solve anything. But, she didn’t want to go back and see her dad, not yet. She didn’t know what to do. What could she do? She needed away.

Etheldrea stopped running and leaned against the wall in an alley way hiding herself from any passers. She was panting and gasping, and couldn’t get air in. The world was spinning and her hands and feet were numb. She slipped down and sat with her hands around her knees. There were black spots in her vision, and if she didn’t calm down- it was too late. For the second time that night, she passed out.

* * *

_Mycroft’s house had originally belonged to her grandmother and grandfather. When granddad retired, the two had moved to France and left the house to Mycroft. It was the place where she grew up and was most familiar with, and that’s why it became_ her _mind place. It had changed over the years, of course. Rooms were added, moved, and deleted. Everything was organized though. Until now._

_Etheldrea was lost as she went into rooms, looking for something she didn’t even know. She passed by people and objects of knowledge, and open doors that led to her memories and also closed doors that she knew led to the memories she had long since repressed. She stopped in front of one room, the door open all the way, leading to her old bedroom._

_Inside, the younger her sat on a bed, looking through a book. Etheldrea approached her and sat on the bed. Little Etheldrea didn’t glance at her, didn’t even notice her there. The older one reached a hand through the younger’s foot, which passed right through._

_“A memory, then.” The older muttered._

_Little Etheldrea was reading a book that had the picture of a woman holding a child. In square blue letters, the title said Mommy Loves Me. Older remembered that book; it was one she had been forced to read when she began school. It had been well below her reading level, and also confused her a lot. It was so simplistic and basic, saying all the things that moms did because they love their child._

_She hadn’t a mom, and so she had no experience like the kids in her class. A couple actually had the audacity to tease her about it when they quiet clearly were the products of no protection and were simply slip ups – like she was._

_Little Etheldrea put the book down and got off the bed. Older followed her out the door and over to her dads room down the hall. He was there, mixing some liquids together on the other side of a rope wall strung up for when she first began walking._

_“Dad?” she asked, “Why don’t I have a mum?”_

_He almost dropped the beakers in his hands, and carefully set them down. He stood up, stepped over, and took off his goggles. He smiled, forced, at Etheldrea, and picked her up and set her on his bed._

_“Give me a moment, and I’ll come back with an answer, alright?”_

_She nodded and waited. He was back in a moment, the scene sped up as the elder Etheldrea watched. Sherlock sat down on the bed and pulled his daughter closer, running a through her short hair a few times._

_“You see, my Little Wanderer, your mother . . . uh, you’re mother-“_

_He paused, looking unusual and like he was debating. When he spoke next, he looked towards his knees._

_“You have one, she’s just not here. I’m not sure if she ever will be.”_

_“Why?”_

_“See, just after you were born, she got into some bad things. You remember the story about Mr. Hudson?”_

_“Yeah, he was in a drug cart tall.”_

_“Cartel. She became involved in something similar, and couldn’t stop. I didn’t want you near that, and so we left.”_

_“Did she ever stop?”_

_“I’m not sure. I haven’t spoken to her since.”_

_“Oh. . . What was she like?”_

_“ . . . Dedicated. Ambitious and very forward. She also had a temper much like you.”_

_Little Etheldrea crossed her arms, “I don’t have a temper. People are just too slow.”_

_“That’s what your Uncle would say. Is there anything else you want to know?”_

_“Did she love me?”_

_Again, he paused, and then looked her in the eyes, “What parent wouldn’t love their child?”_

_Sherlock look at his closet, and then stood up. He walked to it and dug around for a moment and then pulled out a white wood box, some pieces of paper, and something else clutched in his hand. He sat back down and placed the box on Little Etheldrea’s lap._

_“These,” he said, holding out the papers, “are pictures of your mum. This is from a school yearbook, when she graduated. And this one here was given to me by one of her friends.”_

_The Little Etheldrea squinted at the pictures, neither being the best of quality but still giving a recognizable face. Sherlock then passed the ring and necklace to her._

_“These were hers too, but she wanted you to have them.”_

_“They’re pretty.” The little whispered as she held delicately._

_“The ring will be big on you, but when you’re older, you can wear it. Or keep it in the box, whatever you want.”_

_“Thank you daddy.”_

_The older Etheldrea stepped back and out of the room. She tried to close the door, but it wouldn’t budge. She could get rid of the memory, at least not yet. So she turned and ran down the stairs and through the dining room. Then through the kitchen and out the backdoor. Like it was crumbling, which it probably was, everything was dark, dead, and desert._

_She ran through the gardens and to the wall hedge. She brushed past the wilted leaves and to the small stream and tree where her dad used to read to her. He was there, sitting down and holding_ A Christmas Carol _in his hands. That book he’d read to her every Christmas and one of her best memories now seemed poisoned._

_“Why?” she asked._

_The Sherlock here stood up and the book faded away. He walked to her, tall and intimidating, looking down on her with a cruel sneer._

_“I never wanted you.”_

* * *

Etheldrea opened her eyes, her breathing close to sobs. She sat up and looked around, noticing how much dark it was now. She must have been out for hours, and she had forgotten her bag which held her phone so she couldn’t check the time. Carefully, she stood up and brushed herself off. Her cheeks were coated with dried tears, and her eyes felt crusty. She replayed in her head everything that had happened in a quick second, and then made a plan.

She wasn’t running away, she wouldn’t do that, but she needed to think. With a purpose, she walked out of the ally and towards the one place she knew would help get her undercover. She needed to process, and she knew it would take longer than the time she had left.


	9. An Age Old Secret Part 3

The case had been frustrating to say the least. The killer had evaded them twice in the past six hours, and was still going. Sherlock hadn’t had such a challenge since what John called The Great Game, and while he enjoyed it, the killer had changed his game and was on a spree.

Jacob Marx had been recently released from prison after murdering three people. How he got out remained a question, though Sherlock had several ideas. After he was released, Marx began killing once again, and now seemed to be going on a spree. Almost every two hours, a body had been turning up and Marx didn’t seem to be able to rest.

Currently, they were at the latest crime scene. Sherlock was searching for something, anything new, but he just found a repeat of what had happened at the past five scenes. There was now a total of eight dead, and no stopping the killer. They had sent out a profile hours ago, but it didn’t help.

“Do you think we can set up a trap? Lure him in?” John asked as they stood over the body of the latest victim.

Sherlock glanced around him, noticing Lestrade walking over with a grim look.

“I don’t think we’ll have too.”

Lestrade said, “Found him. Dead. Killed himself after killing another man.”

“What?” John asked incredulously, “Spends the whole day and night killing, and then himself. What for?”

Sherlock’s phone beeped and he pulled it out.

**You’re daughter’s an absolute jewel, Sherlock. She really is. I’m so glad I had the chance to enlighten her. Thanks for the time. JM**

Sherlock stiffened, clutching the phone tightly and going over several possibilities in his head. The message didn’t give away much, but just enough for him to get into action. He needed to find Etheldrea, now.

“It was a distraction.” Sherlock said, passing the phone to John.

“Oh god,” he said as he read the message, “Does he have her?”

“I don’t think so. There’s something about Etheldrea’s mother that I never wanted her to know. I believe Moriarty took it upon himself to tell her. It’s more than likely that she’s wondering around the city, but I’m not sure.”

Sherlock took back the phone and started messing around on it.

“What are you doing?” John asked.

“Tracking her phone. I haven’t had to in years . . . Old Oak Road in White City.”

He took off, leaving John to explain what was happening to Lestrade. Once he knew, he got them into his car and they were on their way. Arriving, Sherlock found the signal had not moved and that if Etheldrea was with her phone, she’d be here somewhere.

They all got out and began looking around. After a few minutes, John noticed Etheldrea’s backpack on the porch of the only lit house in the area. Sherlock walked and stopped outside the door, reaching down and grabbing the brown backpack. He opened the top and pulled out the phone. John stood next to him, looking around. His gaze stopped on the name plates and he pointed one out to Sherlock.

 "Smith, right? You said her name was Smith?"

 "Yes. Etheldrea isn't here though; this is just to lead us."

 Lestrade walked up, "Do we need to ask her a few questions?"

 "Yes. I believe we do."

 Lestrade stepped forward, forcing the other two back. He rang the doorbell, and they waited until a blonde woman opened the door.

 "How can I help you?" She asked.

 "I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. We're investigating a missing girl, and we've found her belongings on your doorstep. Care to explain?"

 "I'm sorry, I don't know how, those got there. But the girl, if she's that one that man brought to my office, I don't know what happened to her after I left."

 "And may I ask what happened while she was there?"

 "I don't even know why she was there. Apparently to talk, but all I did was tell her the truth. This _is_ about the Holmes girl right, Elizabeth or something?"

 Sherlock replied coldly, "Her name is Etheldrea."

 Smith looked past Lestrade, surprised to see Sherlock standing there.

 "Well, I'll be damned. You actually did care. And here I thought it was just coincidence. Why? I recall you saying that love is a chemical defect."

 "You would know that well, wouldn't you Amy. After all, that's why your boyfriend broke up with you."

 "I was pregnant; he didn't want anything to do with that."

 "Actually, he broke up with you because of your utter lack of caring."

 "And like you care? Since when? What was so great about a screaming bundle of shit?"

 If looks could kill, Amy Smith would have died before finishing that sentence. She took a step back, frowning and getting ready to close the door.

 "I can't help you." She said.

 "You're incapable of any form of love. You only know anger, pain and loneliness, and you'll never understand."

 "I don't care."

 The door closed, and the porch light turned off. The three men were left standing alone two of them staring at Sherlock, before he turned and strode back to the car. Already he had his phone out and was calling Mycroft.

 "Etheldrea's missing. Get your men back and working, now. I need access to footage, and I need to know Amy Smith's last work place."

  _"Of course. I'll send you the address in a bit. I told you Sherlock, hearing it from you would have been better."_

 "Shut up!"

 Sherlock ended the call and waited a moment before the address appeared. Lestrade drove them to Scotland Yard and they entered a room with a couple of screens waiting for them. Sherlock entered the address and rewound the footage until he saw Etheldrea running backwards into the building. He played it forward and watched her run out, take a right, and then disappear off screen.

He entered the next few cameras and watched her run before stopping and entering an alleyway, visibly panicking. He could just barely see her as she slipped to the ground and appeared to faint. She was out of sight from anyone walking by. He fast forwarded the tape, waiting for her to stir, and when she did he looked at the time.

 "She was lying there for four hours." He muttered, "Four hours."

 "Sherlock . . ." John tried to think of something to say.

 "Four hours, and I was solving a murder case meant only to distract me."

 "Sherlock, we'll find her and you can set everything right again."

 "It won't be right, she knows now."

 "Knows what?"

 "Tell me John, how would you feel if you found out both of your parents wanted nothing to do with you when you were born?"

 Lestrade coughed, "Uh, we found her entering a restaurant around ten, and she hasn't left, not that we can see."

 "Angelo's?"

 "Yeah, how did you-"

 "She has a disguise system there. Angelo helps her get undercover. She uses it rarely; she’s not very good at hiding in plain sight. John, let's go. I already have several members of my homeless network on the lookout. Lestrade watch anyone who leaves and goes off alone."

 Sherlock walked out and John went to follow, but then Donavan entered the room. She looked at the screens and sighed.

 "God help the man who dares mess with Etheldrea Holmes."

 "Not much we'll be able to do. Moriarty's slippery."

 "The Freak will find him. He'd never let anyone get away with harming her. You know, once he jumped into the bloody freezing Thames after a burglar pushed her in. Next day, he dragged him here . . . in a bit less than perfect condition."

 "Sometimes I forget how much he . . . he’d kill me for saying it."

 "If there's one good thing about Sherlock Holmes, he's the perfect father for that girl. He won't admit it, but she's got him wrapped around her finger, always has."

 Sherlock shouted, "John, are you coming or not?

* * *

Angelo was explaining, "She was here, and then she was gone. Honest Sherlock, I didn’t see her leave or what she looked like. I just pointed her to the clothes bin and let her be on her way. If I had known it was you she was hiding from, I promise, I would have said something."

“Just show me where the clothes are kept.”

Angelo led them back through the kitchen doors and over to a lone counter. Behind the counter, he looked at everything, trying to remember the missing pieces, the only thing standing out being a blanket. Sherlock looked around the plastic bin, sorting through shirts, hats, and wigs until he found some clues. Etheldrea's coat and scarf were stuffed at the bottom.

 "An unconscious effort to distance herself." Sherlock muttered.

 "From herself, or . . . you?" John asked.

 "Both." He took the items and then stood up, "We need to search the cameras again. Any girls, taller than average height, dark hair, walking alone. They won't get into a cab, she has no fair. She'll continue for as long as possible and when she knows she's out of view, she'll wrap herself up. She'll keep going until she can find a place away from cameras, alone and deserted."

 "It can't be that hard, can it?"

 "There's dozens of places she could have gone, and it'll take too long to search them all. She'd avoid the docks, hates the sand. Maybe the parks, but there's always the chance of being seen."

 "Sherlock," Angelo said, "She said 'as long as it takes him to find me.' I don't know if that helps?"

 "She's not completely avoiding me then, parks are looking more-”

His phone went off, the same breathy tone of Irene Adler.

**Regent’s Park. Left path off the lake. Blue blanket.**

“Call Lestrade, tell him to meet us at Regent’s.”

* * *

Sherlock walked along the path, looking far ahead for the blue blanket. John and Lestrade would be walking the opposite way, ready to act as barriers if needed. It had been a long night already, no sense in dragging it out further.

 Sherlock sighed, wondering if he was ready to have this conversation and ready to tell her the truth. He thought dryly, _it was going so well already_. He knew how it would go, shouting and yelling, maybe a promise to never speak to him again, maybe she'd say she hated him. No, boring, predictable. Etheldrea wasn't predictable, most of the time.

He squinted as he came up to a figure walking. Wrapped in a blue blanket, a bit tall, and wearing light brown boots, he knew he found her.

"Etheldrea." He called out.

 She stopped, slowly pulling down the fabric from her head. Then, again slow, she turned to face him. In a second, a flash of emotions went through her and he saw them all. Anger, disbelief, determination, fear not of him but of the situation, and, maybe he was being hopeful, relief. Her jaw was firm, her eyes struggling to look focused on him, and she was struggling to find what she wanted to say.

 Behind her, John and Lestrade came in to view but stopped and backed when they saw Etheldrea. Sherlock lifted his hand and stepped toward her, only she backed away.

 "Etheldrea, we'll go talk. Let's go home."

 ". . . I don't know where that is."

 "Baker Street."

 "I know where Baker Street is. But home? Home is completely foreign to me."

 "Etheldrea, come on. Let's go, and we'll talk there"

 "No! We're talking now. I'm talk now, and you're going to listen, and if we wait-"

She broke off, her breathing escalating. He knew what she meant though. If she waited, she'd loose her nerve.

 "Ok. I’m listening."

 She took a deep breath, "Who is Anna?"

 "You, before I . . . took you in."

 "It was just an accident. Too much alcohol."

 "Yes."

 "You didn't want me."

 "No, that's entirely-"

 "Shut up! You paid her; you paid her to- to-"

 ". . . Yes."

 "You lied to me."

 "Yes."

 "So, I'm just a- a mistake. I shouldn't have been born, I wouldn't have been born but my grandparents got in the way. You didn’t want, maybe you still don’t. I’m just a guilt trip from grandma and grandpa, aren’t I?”

“No, you don-“

Etheldrea slowly advanced toward him, the blanket falling, her fists clenched to her sides.

 “Don’t! Don’t, just- I don’t know what to think anymore. You lied to me, this entire time. You told me _we_ left, but it was really the _both_ of you. And _you_ , you haven’t left me once, you’ve gone twice now! What’s to stop you from doing it a third time?”

“Etheldrea, I _swear_ -“

He grabbed her shoulders when she was with in distance and she tried to beat him back, “My god, what else have you lied to me about? For as long as I can remember, you have always been the only one I can trust, but I can’t do that now can I?”

"I didn't want you growing up thinking you weren't wanted."

"So lying to me was better. News flash, I already know I'm not wanted. I’ve gotten that constant reminder at school and on cases every day. Not being wanted is nothing new." She had slowly gone from yelling to a damaged cry, "But . . . why? _What's wrong with me_?"

Etheldrea swayed where she stood, and then her eyes closed and she fell towards the ground, saved from hitting it by Sherlock. John and Lestrade ran over.

“She’s . . . fine.” Sherlock muttered as he looked for any bodily damage, “Just exhausted.”

He picked her up, and then turned around. The three walked back to the main road and Lestrade said an awkward goodbye. He left to his car, and John and Sherlock headed for a shiny black car that already had its door open. Minding her head, Sherlock wormed himself and Etheldrea in.

Back at Baker Street, Mycroft was waiting on the stairs leading to the flat, Mrs. Hudson by his side. She looked relieved but worried to see Etheldrea, and only went to her flat when she was assured Etheldrea would be fine, but to expect some yelling come morning.

After getting upstairs, and placing Etheldrea in her room, Sherlock walked into the kitchen, one hand on his waist, the other rubbing the back of his neck. His face betrayed just a tiny flicker of exasperation.

 "Sherlock, remember what I told you. Children grow up." Mycroft said, "You can't protect her from everything. I don't see why you try."

 John blinked, and Sherlock had Mycroft against the wall, shoving him into the tile by the labels of his jacket.

 "You. Do. Not. Understand. You think you do but you have absolutely no idea! No idea how she's feeling and what she's thinking. I barely do myself, but I do know she's hurting, and I am _powerless_ to help her. You do not understand how that feels, not at all! Now. Get. Out."

 Sherlock backed off and walked to the otherwise of the kitchen. Mycroft straightened his suit and then walked out of the door. Before he left, he looked to Sherlock.

 "You're wrong."

 "Sorry?" Sherlock asked, aggravated.

 "I do know what it’s like to feel powerless to help some you . . ."

 He trailed off, letting the silence fill in the unspoken _care about_. Then he was gone.

 Sherlock sighed, and walked to the window. He grabbed his violin and played a piece John was quite familiar with, one that only played on nights Etheldrea seemed down.

 He didn't know what to do. It wasn't his business, Etheldrea wasn't his daughter. However, he still didn't want to see her look so broken and lost. He debated attempting to talk with Sherlock, but finally decided on going to bed. He said goodnight and went to his room. As the music continued, he wondered if Sherlock would go to bed.

But he wouldn't, and instead spent the entire night in his chair, moved closer to John’s seat so that he had a small view to his daughter’s room. He sat there for another hour, until she sat straight up in her bed, eyes unseeing and tears running down her face. A night terror like when she was a baby, now only brought on by high stress.

He dash to her room, already murmuring comforting words, and then rubbed her back and gently coaxed her back down. One hand clutched tightly at his shirt sleeve as she entered REM and let go once she was breathing deep and even. Sherlock stayed only for a moment, enjoying (what he knew would be the last time for a long while) being able to comfort his daughter.


	10. An Age Old Secret Part 4

Etheldrea was groggy and confused when she woke up in the morning. She was in her bed, still in her clothes from yesterday, and-

Yesterday.

Everything she knew changed yesterday and she had confronted Sherlock about it. The events of that time were blurry, and she wasn’t sure when she made it back to Baker Street, that is, if she did it consciously. Who knows what would happen now, and she really didn’t want to go into it anymore. Staying curled up under her blankets seemed easier than going out there.

That couldn’t happen though, they would have to talk. So, against her better judgment, she got out of bed and walked out of the room. Slowly, she headed towards the living room, one hand trailing along the wall. He stopped just outside the door, took a deep breath, and then turned and walked back to her room. She couldn’t do it, not yet, not now, and maybe not ever.

She headed for her bed, but stopped and looked towards her closet. She walked over, grabbed the white box from the top shelf, and then walked to her window. She opened it up and with as much force as she could, threw it out the window. It sailed through the air before slamming into the back fence. The box splintered and its contents felt out and disappeared in the grass. She shut the window with some unnecessary force, and then got into her bed. She wrapped herself in her comforter and listened to the muffled noises surrounding her.

 Mrs. Hudson was coming up the stairs, and then talking to Sherlock and John. She could hear John talking, and Sherlock replied. Then she heard footsteps going downstairs and also heading for her door. She could practically see the hesitation as he went to knock. Then, the footsteps retreated and she heard the murmur of John's voice once again. Minutes later, the footsteps were back accompanied by a knock. She scrunched her bed spread tighter around her head and ignored it. A moment later the door opened and she felt someone sit by her feet. Slowly, the blanket was pulled away, and she tried to tunnel into her pillow.

 "I'm not going to ask you to forgive me, but I ask that you listen."

 She didn't say anything, nor move.

 "I met Amy Smith at Uni. She wasn't well like by our peers because of her attitude. She had a temper that threatened to break anytime, and wasn't afraid to tell someone off for anything. She didn't talk to many people, preferring to sit in the corner and read, and she was a pariah. People avoided her whenever they could, even if they had to work on projects. Work was her way or no way. We never talked until we assigned as partners for a sciences report. Both of us were stubborn, and refused to agree on how to do the project. By midnight the project wasn't started, and we were in a pub. I'll skip the details, but a few months later, she came to me and said she was pregnant. You know most of the rest. From what I've gathered, she left when you were barely three months.

 That's when the hospital got in contact. When I arrived, you were severely dehydrated, and malnourished. You were hooked up to a life support system, and you were barely alive. It was a few days before you were well enough to leave the hospital. In that time I found out your mothers parent hadn't been caring for you since shed left for good. They'd leave you alone in a cot, never hold you or feed you. It was three days of that before a neighbor heard you crying, alone while they had gone out. I was amazed you had survived at all.

When your grandmother met you, she was determined to keep you with us. I was determined to give you a better family. After two weeks of screenings, I still wasn't happy with the candidates. At the time I didn't know why I cared so much but now I do. You had been up half the night crying. Mummy tried everything. Then Mycroft. Eventually he had enough and quite literally dragged me to your room."

_"What the hell can I do?" He asked Mycroft._

_"You're her father, you can do something."_

_"I'm not a father."_

_"Believe me, you're the last resort." Then he walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him._

_Sherlock rolled his eyes and went over to the crib. She was very small, and was a bright red with her face scrunched up as she cried. Supposedly she was pale like him and had the same eyes, but it was difficult to tell. She did have his hair though, dark almost black brown color. He picked up the baby delicately and held her as far as his arms could. Her crying seemed to only increase._

_Curtly he asked, "What do you want? It’s not a bottle or diaper, probably a nap but you won't shut up long enough for one."_

_She continued to cry, not even stopping to breath. Sherlock grimaced and tried setting her down, but impossibly her wailing was louder. He lifted her back up and closer to him as his arms were tired. Her crying decreased to a soft whimper. Bright silvery blue eyes stared up at him as if expecting something._

_"What do you want?" He asked much more softly, rocking her a bit._

_To his surprise, she squealed happily. Then, she smiled at him, small and toothless. No child had ever smiled at him, at least not because they were happy to see him. Her thin arms reached towards his shirt. All the while she made cooing baby noises. Sherlock adjusted her so that she rested against him. He continued rocking back and forth, and she stayed very calm. He lifted a finger to her little hand and she clutched it tightly, unwilling to let go._

_"This is what you wanted." He muttered mainly to himself, "A little comfort, and some attention. You haven't had a lot. Don't worry, that's going to change very soon."_

_If she was with another family, she’d grow up normally. She’d have a normal life with normal parents, normal friends, and a normal future. What kind of future would she have here with him? An undergraduate chemist with no ambition for a regular job or regular life. But, what would she be like when she grew up. Look at him and Mycroft. They had perfectly normal parents and yet the both of them were exceptional._

_Within a few minutes, she was sound asleep, one hand lightly gripping the material of his shirt and the other still holding his. Sherlock sat down at the rocking chair near the crib. For who knows how long, he just stared at her, the little creature he had created. She was still very thin and very light, and it would be a while before she'd be completely healthy again. But, she was here, making herself known, and already causing trouble to her Uncle._

_There was a knock at the door, and his parents walked in._

_"Another family is here." His mother said._

_He looked up, and then back down to the little baby in his arms._

_"Tell them to go away."_

_His father looked surprised, "So you found a family."_

_"Yes._

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Of course. We'll be far more suitable than anyone else.”_

_Mrs. Holmes smiled and walked over, "Welcome home Anna."_

_"Etheldrea."_

_"Sorry?"_

_"Her name's Etheldrea."_

_"Oh that's lovely Sherlock. Absolutely lovely."_

_Mycroft walked in now, observing the scene before him. He smiled, almost smugly when he saw his brother._

_"I do hope you know what you're getting into." He said, "It won't be easy."_

_"I know." Sherlock muttered, "I don't care."_

_Mrs. Holmes shook her head, "We're all going to help, and don’t you worry."_

"That's my side. I swear, it’s all true, and you can ask your grandparents, even your Uncle. I know it doesn't make things alright. But, you need to know that the past doesn't matter. Not anymore. I'm here now, and I'm not leaving. I want to make this right."

 Etheldrea turned towards him and lowered the blanket. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs.

 "You can't." She sighed as she tried to think of something to say, "I . . . need time to think, and some space."

* * *

Etheldrea and Abigail were at the park, sitting on a bench and watching people go by. Etheldrea had waited until school was out before calling Abigail, and immediately her friend had come to meet her. Etheldrea picked and pinched her hands as she explained everything that was going on. Abigail listened intently.

"I just, I don't know what to do."

"Can I ask you some questions?"

"I don't see why not."

"When you confronted your dad, how were you feeling?"

Etheldrea thought back, thinking carefully and trying to processing everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. Things were still a bit blurry around the edges, but the things she felt were easy to pull up. She was still feeling them.

"Angry, confused, exhausted." She replied.

"And this morning, how did you feel?"

"Confused still, tired, and a bit . . . scared."

"How do you feel now?"

"Confused. What is the point in this?"

"I'm trying out psychology. There are some questions that you’re supposed to ask. Don't know if I'm doing them right, but let's see how it goes. Now, you said you were scared. Why?"

"I didn't know what was going to happen. I remembered everything I had said the night before, and I wasn't sure how he'd react."

"And when he did react, how did you feel?"

"Scared. Guilty."

"Why?"

"Because, I was wrong. But I still feel like-"

"Hold on. You think you're wrong. About what?"

"I said that I was just a guilt trip."

"And do you still think that?"

"No. For a little bit, yeah, but everything's declined since."

"How do you feel now?"

"Sad. Amused. I don't think therapists ask 'how do you feel about that?' after every answer."

"Shut up! It's helping, isn't it?"

Etheldrea laughed and nodded, "Surprisingly, yes."

"See. Now, what are you going to do?"

"About?"

"About your dad."

"What can I do?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Make everything go back to normal."

"Can you do that?"

Etheldrea looked at her hands, "Think I'd be able to?"

If she had the chance to go back to last night, she would. Anyone would of course, but she would get out of there before it got dark. She would have continued on with her day and maybe spent the rest of it with Abigail. But she couldn’t change it, and maybe she wouldn’t have. Moriarty seemed to have gone to a lot of trouble just for her to learn the truth.

Abigail said, "Don't be Gatsby. The past can't change, but the future can. That's what matters."

"You actually read _The Great Gatsby_?"

"I watched the movie. So, what are you going to do?"

"Try talking with my dad."

“That’s a start. I think I need to say something else, but I don’t know what.”

“Where are you learning you’re psychology from?”

“. . . Movies. TV.”

“Don’t you have a psychology _class_?”

“Yeah, but we’re not learning how to be psychologists. Just brain stuff.”

“Brain stuff?”

“Look, I know I want to help people. I’m not a house builder, and I’m not looking to travel anywhere. But maybe I can help people with how they feel and help the, come to terms with stuff. I think I’d like that.”

Etheldrea nodded, “Alright. I think you’d be great at that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’ve helped me feel better. I don’t think I can forgive my dad yet, but I feel better about everything than I did this morning. Thanks.”

Abigail smiled and wrapped her arms around her friend, “Of course. Anytime you need me, I’ll be there. That’s what friends do.”

* * *

Etheldrea climbed up the stairs and then went to her room. She had debated staying in her bed for the rest of the day, but after talking with Abigail she didn't feel like doing that. Instead she went to her closet and looked around for her backpack. It wasn't there, nor anywhere else in the room.

 She waked out to the living room and asked, "Have you seen my backpack?"

 Sherlock, who was sitting in his chair, reached behind it and pulled it out. She mumbled thanks and grabbed it, and started back to her room as she looked through. However, what she was looking for was not there. The Last Man was missing from the bag, and she groaned in frustration.

 "What's wrong?" John asked.

 "A book I found is gone. It took me years to find it, and now? I'll have to wait another one."

 "Was it that be?" Sherlock asked.

 She nodded, "Perfect condition too."

 She shook her head and went to put her backpack away. Looking up as there was knocking, she watched Sherlock step into the room. In one hand he held a small box, and gently tossed it to her. She caught it and opened it. On a long chain, she pulled out a vintage pendent. It had two ovals clasped together, one with a black backing and the rest in silver. A double eight shape with diamonds decorated the top.

“I was going to give it to you on your eighteenth, but I thought maybe . . . well anyway, this belonged to your grandmother. It’s been in her family for generations, passed down to each girl. She never had any girls, but I have you and she gave it to me a few years ago. It symbolizes good character, strength, focus, and power.”

Etheldrea put the necklace back in the box, set it down, and crossed her arms.

“You’re lying.”

“What?”

“Don’t _what_ me. I was with grandma the day she bought this. At an antique store. For a rather ridiculous price I might add.”

Sherlock nodded, “Right. Should have asked her. Sorry. We thought it, well; I thought it would be . . . It means the same to me anyway.”

Etheldrea turned, picked the pendent up, and studied it in her hand.

“We?” she asked.

“John. Your grandmother did give that to me to give to you, but only a couple weeks ago. John said I should do something to,” he quoted the air, “Remind you of something happy in your life. I thought that reminding you that you’re here and part of the Holmes family would do something, but that was rather stupid, wasn’t it?”

“A bit, yeah.” She said with a small laugh.

“Maybe you can start a new tradition. You could pass down the necklace you your children.”

“Yeah, me with children. That’s a good one.”

There was a slight pause before either of them said anything.

“Etheldrea, I am sorry. I thought it would be easier but I . . . was wrong.”

She turned to him, “Say that again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“ _Nooo_ , the other thing.”

“I . . . I was wrong.”

Etheldrea smirked and put the necklace around her neck, “Thank you.”

“For saying I was wrong, or the necklace?”

“Both.  . . . So, I talked with Abigail. She tried to help me, and she sort of did. I want to say I’m sorry too. I reacted really badly to everything. I’ve heard both sides, and honestly I don’t think I can forgive you yet. But I want to try and have everything go back to normal.”

“Me too.”

“I’m not sure if I can do that, though. So, like I said this morning, I still need time and space.”

“I understand. And if you ever need to talk, I’m here, John’s here, and it sounds like Abigail is too.

* * *

Sherlock strode into the Diogenes Club, walking towards the offices. He entered his brother's, not evening knocking. Mycroft looked up, now suddenly annoyed.

 "To what do I owe the pleasure? Come to let out some more anger?"

 "I need your help."


	11. The Six Thatchers

By the holidays, things could be better, but they weren’t as bad it could have been. John getting a girlfriend was one of the few good things at the moment, at least for him. Etheldrea hadn't forgiven Sherlock yet, and probably wouldn't for a while. She was distant with him, but she talked, and laughed, and went on cases. There were times she would forget what happened, only for a moment, and she'd open herself up. But then she'd remember, and then she'd close up again, going off to read or look around a scene. She always wore the necklace though, hidden under her shirt, and it gave Sherlock a very small comfort to know.

 With Christmas around the corner, John thought it would be a good idea to go do some shopping. He managed to drag both the Holmes with him, and he'd later regret it. Etheldrea was fine, politely admiring shop windows and displays. Sherlock, however, began complaining the moment they entered the cab. As they walked around, he pointed out all the ridiculous decorations and stand put up in celebration of the "most wonderful time of year."

 "John." Sherlock moaned, "Bored."

 "Come on, don't you have any thing you need to get for Christmas."

 "I do my shopping online. There are people here."

 They were just passing by Meet Santa attraction, and when said Santa saw the look on Sherlock's face, he called out to him.

 "You there young man, you seem down. Care to ask Santa what you want for Christmas?"

 Sherlock gave a small smirk to Etheldrea, "I'm bored and want a nice juicy murder."

 He grinned almost devilishly, and a few kids screamed and cried. Parents were shouting and trying to comfort there kids. The entire area was now chaos.

 "OK, time to go." John said, grabbing both of the Holmes by their jackets and calling out apologies.

 John pushed and pulled them towards the exit, and just as the doors opened, a couple of security officers showed up.

 "And just where do you think you're going?"

 "Home." John said quickly, "Honest to god, getting him home."

 "You won't mind if we escort you, you're boyfriend, and daughter."

 "He's not my boyfriend. I am not gay."

 "Right. Now, let's go."

 The officers led them down the path and to a parking lot. They climbed into one of the officer’s vehicle and with a quiet fuming from John, rode back to Baker Street. Etheldrea got out of the car first, and hurried up the steps into Baker Street. John wondered what her hurry was, but then Sherlock was rushing too. Shaking his head, he apologized again to the officers, and started into Baker Street.

 "Hurry up John!" Sherlock called, "We have a client."

 Upstairs, a young girl just a few years older than Etheldrea was sitting in the flat. She had long brown hair, freckly skin, and brown eyes. She looked like a wreck with a white shirt covered in paint, and baggy sweat pants.

 "My name is Sally Barnicot." She said, slightly wavering, "And I'm an-"

 "Art student." Sherlock said, "Going the stains on your shirt and you're hair."

 "My hair?"

 "Broken and frizzed all along a certain height, it's constantly held back by a hairband. Except for now of course, only because you came here before getting ready. The t-shirt just confirms it."

 John sat down in his chair, pulling Sherlock over to his. He took a seat, and waited expectantly for Miss Barnicot to begin.

 "I'm a student at Glender University. My friend, my best friend Pietro Venucci, was murdered a few days ago. The police are looking for the wrong man."

 "What makes you say that?" Sherlock asked.

 "They think it was a break in gone wrong, but it couldn't have been. Beppo, his boyfriend Beppo Rovito, was in the room."

 "Did he witness the murder?"

 "He says he found the body, but it's not true. He killed Pietro!"

 "Start at the beginning. What have you been told?" John asked.

 "It was in the pottery room. Beppo had gone to find him and found him on the floor, window smashed in, and the knife missing. He's lying, he has to be. Pietro and him, it's never been good. They fight all the time, have been off and on for ages now, and Beppo's got a temper. It's so easy to set him off, and he's been in some trouble. Drugs and gang activity, things like that. It was him, please Mr. Holmes, you have to prove it."

 She started sobbing and clutched at a gold chain around her neck.

 "Did he give that to you?" Sherlock asked, "The necklace?"

 "Y-yes. It was a bir-birthday present. I we-wear it e-everyday."

“Miss Barnicot, please leave. My colleague and I are on the case.”

“Thank you, thank you so much! I can’-“

Sherlock shooed her out, “Yes, yes. Check back with us tomorrow.”

He closed the door on her and then grabbed his computer and sat down in his chair. Both and John and Etheldrea looked at each other before looking back at him, waiting for him to explain what was going on.

“Uh, Sherlock?” John asked, “What are you doing?”

“Researching. . . . Just as I thought. There have been four burglaries within the past few days. A couple of students, one teacher, and a friend of our victim.”

“Ok, and what has that to do with anything?”

“You’ll see. John, go to Glender University. Pretend to be from the Hickman and get some information on Pietro latest work. Etheldrea, get Lestrade to give you some information on Beppo. When it’s time, I text you all where to meet.”

He put the computer away, and then stood and grabbed his coat and scarf. Then he was out the door, and John and Etheldrea were left in the dust.

“You’d think he’d let us know just a little bit more.” John said.

“Actually, I wouldn’t think that. This has to be an easy case, mega easy, and we’re supposed to figure it out.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out before me then.”

“Me too. Good luck John.”

* * *

Etheldrea walked into the Yard and immediately headed for Lestrade's office. If anyone could get her the file, it was him. The door was unlocked and she went in. Lestrade sat at his desk, rubbing his face with his hands. He looked up at Etheldrea and immediately put on a work face.

 "Um, I can come back later if you want." She said.

 "No, it's fine. What's up? Your dad need a case?"

 "No, we've got one. I need records though, about a student named Beppo Rovito. He's a suspect in a murder. Not everything, just what he's been up to in the past year."

 "Right, give me a couple minutes."

 He turned to the computer and was clicking away. In a moment he pulled up some records for her to look at. Etheldrea wrote everything she needed down, thanked him, and started to leave. But, she stopped and turned back.

 "Is there anything you want to get off your chest?" She asked him, "I'm as great a listener as I am a talker."

 Lestrade gave her a small smile and shook his head, "Family stuff. Nothing you need to worry about."

 "If it's any consolation, your wife isn't sleeping with anyone yet."

 "Yet."

 "Yeah . . . forget I said anything."

 "It's ok. Maybe I do need to unwind."

 "I'm all ears."

 "My brother and his wife are splitting up, and from what I've heard he plans on leaving the area. My nephew, he's been getting into a lot of trouble, and my sister-in-law doesn't know what to do. I've been thinking of letting him stay with us for a while."

 "That might be a good idea. If he's in trouble, living with an officer might turn him around."

 "You think so? I've still got to think about it, and talk to my wife."

 "Good luck Inspector. I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow."

 "You too Ethel."

 She left the building and walked down the street as she texted Sherlock. Within a minute, he texted back for her to head for a house near the University. Her next assignment was to talk with the occupants about a stolen bust. John had learned Pietro's latest project had been six identical ceramic sculptures of Margaret Thatcher. All of them had been sold to the people who had been burglarized. She traveled to the house quickly, and was able to get the information Sherlock needed. Nothing besides the bust had been stolen, and that's when Etheldrea connected everything.

 After leaving, she sent a text back to Sherlock, who told her to go back to Baker Street. There would be nothing to do until later that night.

* * *

 "How's Lestrade?" John asked as he ate some pasta.

 He had made the three dinner, though unsurprisingly, Sherlock didn’t eat. Etheldrea happily helped herself, and chewed and swallowed before talking.

“He could be better. Nothing but the usual family problems.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, not to mention his wife has cheated on him twice.”

“Twice?”

“Yep. She broke up with the latest one last week. I don’t think he knew about _that_ one, so I didn’t mention it.”

“Probably a good idea. Did you invite him to the party next week?”

“Yesterday.  He said he’d try to make it.”

“So are you just having Abigail over?”

She shrugged, “Who else would I?”

Sherlock groaned from his place in his chair, “This is so _dull_!”

Etheldrea and John both glared at him.

Etheldrea said harshly. “This is an AB conversation C your way out.”

John looked at her, shocked at the comeback, and started laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. Sherlock look irritated for a moment, but then mildly amused.

“W-where did- you learn- that?” John asked between laughs.

“Abigail said it to someone once. I thought it was funny.”

“Please, do not hesitate to say that again.”

Sherlock stood up and checked his watch, “Come on, it’s time to go.”

He grabbed his coat and scarf, put them on, and then started walking out the door. John and Etheldrea scrambled after him, and they took a cab to small neighborhood.

 "John, take this address. I'll take the other. Etheldrea, head for the bridge and hide near there. If you see anyone don't approach them, you will wait for us."

 They split up and went their ways. Etheldrea found a spot in the dark, hidden by bushes and away from street laps. She waited a while before anyone came around. It was a man, in his twenties. He carried with him a large bust that looked like a woman with horns. He ran past where Etheldrea hid and on to the bridge where it had more light. She watched him smash the bust on the ground and then go through the pieces.

 He stopped and picked up on piece, and brushed it off. He stood up and looked around, and then looked towards the river. He started to walk to the edge of the bridge, ready to throw what whatever he had. Etheldrea didn't see John or her dad coming, and she ended to stop him somehow.

 "Hey!" She called out, jumping from the brush and running at him.

Etheldrea ran into him, throwing both of them to the ground. There was a sting of pain on her cheek. What he had in his hand was a small pen knife, and he had managed a quick swipe at her. She pinned him down and the knife was dropped, but he was struggling hard. He threw her to the side and tried to get up, but she was shoving him back. She kicked the knife away, back towards the broken sculpture. He grabbed the front of her coat and lifted her up, and then pushed her against the bridge railing. The round metal rail dug into her back.

 "Beppo Rovito, what a wonderful evening this has been." She muttered sarcastically.

 "Who are you?" He asked.

 "No one that important." She smirked, "Just someone here to stop you."

 "Really now? How will you do that?"

 He lifted her up and was pushing her back, ready and willing to throw her in to the river behind her.

“Like this.”

She fought back, and grabbed the railing, pulling down and pushing away, which created a short pause from the force. It gave her enough time to knee him, and he dropped her. He was still standing though, and Etheldrea pushed him down. At that moment, John and Sherlock came running up to them. John looked over Beppo. Sherlock grabbed her arm and roughly, but not so much to hurt her, pulled her away.

 "I thought I told you to wait for us?" He hissed.

 She hissed back, "You took too long. I caught a criminal, be grateful."

 "Yes and you also nearly ended up in the river."

 "Oh, it wouldn't be the first time!"

 "You can't ever have it be the last time either, can you?"

 " _Can you_? I don't see why you're reprimanding me when you're just as reckless as I am!"

“You got hurt!”

It hadn’t been a deep cut or even a shallow one. Just a graze large enough to leave a couple trails down her side. It didn’t even drip.

 “Why would you care? It’s not even bleeding, at least not anymore.”

"Guys!" John shouted, "We do have a criminal here."

 Etheldrea noticed that when she asked why he would care, a look of hurt flashed across his face. She tore herself away from him, fixed her jacket, and then walked over to the broken sculpture. Next to them, she found the black pearl oval pen knife with a BR engraved in it. She picked it up and looked it over.

 "I did it." Beppo muttered sadly, "We had an argument, and then we fought. I don't know when I got the knife out, but then he was on the ground and bleeding. The statues were about to go in the oven, so I shoved the knife in one. I panicked."

 "And the break in?" John asked.

 "Smashed a window."

 John grabbed him, stood him up, and started to walk him away.

 "Come on you two; let's get him to the Yard."

* * *

Etheldrea was silently fuming as Sherlock and Lestrade talked. John was sitting next to her, tending to the small cut on her cheek. He finished up and looked over her expression. He noted how exasperated she looked, arms cross and face hidden as best as she could behind her short hair.

 "He was worried." He said.

 "Really? Wouldn't have guessed." She muttered.

 "Every parent worries about their kid, especially when they see them in trouble."

 "I wasn't in trouble; I had the most control over the situation."

 "Perhaps danger is a better word."

 "He shouldn't worry; I'm fine on my own."

 "You aren't on your own though. You don’t need to be."

“It doesn’t matter if I’ve got anyone, or whether or not I want them. I don’t need to be looked after like a child. I know how to take care of myself and _he_ doesn’t trust that. Or at least, he doesn’t seem to trust anymore.”

“I don’t think you’ve been looking at him hard enough. We’re always going to be looking after you. It’s what we do.” He pointed out, "You've got him, and me. Mycroft too, it seems."

 "Don't get me started on Uncle Mycroft. Eleven months, eight days until mostly freedom forever."

 "And it'll be your eighteenth. The three of us will have to do something special."

 "Sure."

 "Etheldrea, I know it’s hard, but you both need to talk this out now and again. Just once isn’t enough.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, neither of us is very good with _emotional_ conversation.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you need to try something different. A father-daughter day out. A case for just you and him, a trip to your favorite stores, dinner at Angelo’s. Bonding time where you can talk. When was the last time you had that?”

“Italy. There hasn’t been enough time for just us, not when we’ve been getting cases left and right.”

“You two need to take a day off. You’re going to burn out eventually.”

Sherlock walked over, “We can go home, now that little fiasco is over. Etheldrea, do you think you can get there without risking injury?”

Etheldrea gave John a look, and then stood and strode out. John huffed and put a hand to his face.

“Good going Sherlock.” He muttered, standing up and walking away.


	12. A Scandal in Belgravia Part 4

When December had rolled around, John thought 221B had needed some decorating, and Mrs. Hudson had been more than happy to oblige. Fairy lights were hung up in each window, on the fireplace, around the stairs, and the kitchen. Wreaths on the doors, greenery garlands draped the fireplace and kitchen, postcards on tables, and red ornaments decorated the shelves. The flat looked as though Christmas had barfed everywhere. Etheldrea could handle some decorating. In fact, her own room had a couple strands of lights in the window and around her bed posts, and she had a miniature wreath that fit in her palm nailed on her door.

She didn’t really hate Christmas. She loved the atmosphere that came with it. When winter came around, they could light the fire in the flat and she could sit near it and read. She loved the smell of pine needles, and of gingerbread baking in Mrs. Hudson’s flat. She especially loved to make peppermint hot chocolate every night and sit downstairs with Mrs. Hudson while talking over their day. The old woman, though mostly a grandmother, was the closet she had ever had to a mother figure in her life. Although she probably wasn’t the best to go to for advice, she did have some crazy stories after all, Etheldrea asked anyway.

She and Sherlock had had three more fights since the case John called The Six Thatcher’s. She had tried being civil but he would say or do something that would set her off, and then she would try to go out and walk it off. Sherlock would always immediately follow her, and she knew it too and would always make the route she take complex. Fences to climb over, alleyways to lead to roofs, fire escapes to climb. Mrs. Hudson had told her to remember every time they fought both parties were hurting, and that they should try talking again.

However, neither was making attempts to talk or even forgive each other much to John’s annoyance. The few days leading up to Christmas were tough and filled with tension. However, when Christmas morning rolled around, there was an unspoken truce between the two. Early in the morning, the trio woke up and traveled downstairs to have breakfast with Mrs. Hudson.

Once they were finished, and the dishes were cleaned thanks to John and Etheldrea, they all gathered in the Mrs. Hudson’s living room and sat down to open presents. There wasn’t enough room in their own flat for the tree, so it was instead downstairs. All the presents were wrapped differently by person. Sherlock’s were simply green, Mrs. Hudson’s blue with snowflakes, John’s green and red stripped, and Etheldrea’s had cartoon reindeers. Gifts were passed around one at a time.

“Oh thank you dears! You shouldn’t have.” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed after opening a laptop.

“It was no problem Mrs. H. I’ll help you set everything up after all this.” John replied.

Sherlock opened up his gift, a new set of chemicals he needed replenishing. John opened up his, a lovely new sweater along with a mug filled with packets of his favorite tea. Etheldrea received a book called _Sketchy Behavior_. Gift opening continued until John had a few DVDS and a book, Sherlock had a violin cleaning kit and a special trash bin for body parts, Mrs. Hudson had a day trip to a spa and specifically from Sherlock, more of her “herbal soothers” which earned dirty looks from both John and Etheldrea. Etheldrea was happy with her gifts of an mp3 player with a few audio books, and a complete set of HP Lovecraft’s work.

John and she were cleaning up the last of the paper when Sherlock rushed out of the room and came back a moment later with another present.

He handed it to Etheldrea and said, “Nearly forgot this one.”

The gift was rectangular, and thick. It was obviously a book, but was covered in a plastic material under the wrapping paper for some reason. She opened up the ends and took off the paper. Now in her hands she held a book stuck in in a plastic Ziploc bag. Then she realized what book she held.

 _The Last Man_ , one of the oldest copies she had ever seen, one of the only copies she had ever seen, was in her hands. Still in the same plastic bag she put it in, and still old and yellowing. Etheldrea rarely cried, the last time was at the Folk’s Formal. But she could feel little beads of water popping up in her eyes and rubbed them away before any fell.

“How?” she asked quietly.

“Your Uncle probably owed me a favor, so I got him to allow me access.”

Etheldrea smiled, “Thank you.”

* * *

The rest of the morning, and the afternoon passed lazily. No cases, of course, so Sherlock was bored rather quickly. Etheldrea read the Last Man until she had to get ready for the party later that evening. Mrs. Hudson, to John’s delight, showed him a few more home movies and they ate some gingerbread men as they did.

Around five, Etheldrea finally set the book down and went to change. She wore the purple dress from the Folks Formal, and the same white shoes. Then she went back out to the living room and picked up her book again. At the same time, John was getting out the wine and such for when people started to arrive.

Around five thirty, the first guest was Abigail and she as excited as ever. After saying hello and passing around presents she had gotten for everyone, a small pad of blank paper bound with a plastic cover for John to write other cases in, a wad of skull shaped sticky notes and a skull pen for Sherlock, and a pink peony for Mrs. Hudson. To Etheldrea, she gave her a small snow globe with _Best Friends_ on it and a ceramic daisy inside it.

“I know they’re not much, but-“

“Don’t say another word.” Etheldrea said, “It’s fantastic.”

“Yes, thank you Abigail. It’s very thoughtful.” John said.

He then elbowed Sherlock in the ribs, “Yes. Thanks, and all that.”

“You’re all very welcome.”

The two girls sat and talked for a while. John’s girlfriend, Jeannette, came over at one point. She was a teacher, and Etheldrea thought she looked vaguely familiar. It didn’t matter though because soon after Detective Inspector Lestrade was walking in, followed by a male teenager with curly black hair and brown eyes. He was obviously related to Lestrade.

“Hey everyone,” Lestrade said with a smile, “Happy Christmas. This is my nephew, Sam.”

Abigail turned to Etheldrea with a giant smile on her face before she turned back and stood up. She walked over to him and shook his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Abigail, Etheldrea’s best friend.”

“Only friend.” She corrected.

“Doesn’t matter, still the best. Come sit down.”

She took his hand and led him over to the chair by the door, and then she sat down on the end of the sofa closer to him. Then she reached over and grabbed Etheldrea and tried pulling her closer.

“Come on Drea, don’t be a stranger. So Sam, where do you go to school?”

“I recently transferred to Chestnut Grove. I’m in my last year.”

“Cool. Drea and I are nearly there. One more year. What do you want to do after?”

“I was thinking military. I’ve always like studying new languages, so I thought I could be a linguist. What about you?”

“I’d like to be a physiologist.”

He nodded, “Awesome.”

“Were you thinking regular or reserves for the military?”

“Regular. I’d like spend more time out there in the world.”

“You like traveling? Etheldrea likes traveling, don’t you?”

She nodded, “Yeah. Haven’t done a lot of it though.”

“Why not?” Sam asked.

“Need the time. School, cases. Things come up.”

Etheldrea was mildly panicking. Never in her life did she think she’d see him again, especially after what happened when she was nine. Now here he was, sitting diagonally from her and she could read everything. She already knew some about his life from Lestrade but more and more things were being confirmed, and she needed to be careful not to blurt anything out.

There were bags under his eyes, and she could sense some bruising was on his body form the way he sat down. His hands were clenched together, and also he wasn’t sleeping well, no doubt form life events. Judging by the way Lestrade walked with him, the father had indeed taken off and there were probably no plans to come back.

He was nervous being here, and with good reason. She had humiliated him in front of the entire Yard, and being around her again probably wasn’t good for him. Not to mention being around her dad because that happened to others. Also, Abigail held a bit of an aggressive attitude at the moment form her excitement. The supposed bruising would have come from the “trouble” he had been in, and it looked like it was only fights. There could be more to it, and there probably was.

She needed to keep her mouth shut.

Abigail asked, “Since Inspector Lestrade is your Uncle, do you get to see a lot of action?”

“Not as much you think. The last time I saw him on the job, he was attacking a doughnut.”

She laughed and he chuckled a bit too, so not so nervous as to not be social.

“I’m sure Etheldrea sees him a lot more though.” Sam said.

She just nodded.

Abigail looked over at her and laughed, “Come on, cat got your tongue? You’ve always something to say, what’s up?”

“Nothing, just . . .” she stood up, “You know, I think I’ll have a drink. Either of you?”

Sam shook his head and Abigail replied her parents would kill her if they knew. Not that if she was anywhere else. They’d be fine with it.

Etheldrea went to grab that drink, standing by the desk as her father picked up his violin. He played at Mrs. Hudson’s request and did We Wish You a Merry Christmas. Etheldrea smiled as the music filled the room and applauded with the rest when he finished with a flourish.

“Lovely, Sherlock. That was lovely.” Mrs. Hudson said.

“Marvelous.” John said.

“I wish you could have worn the antlers.”

Sherlock shook his head, “Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs. Hudson.”

From the seat of the chair, she grabbed said antlers her father had stuck there and while his back was turned she put them on his head. Immediately they were off, he gave her a glare, and then tossed them into the corner of the room. She giggled, finished her wine, and went to the kitchen for a refill.

John was passing around the drinks, and his girlfriend had some food. She held out a tray to Sherlock, who declined.

“Oh, no thank you, Sarah.”

Her face fell and John was immediately at her side. Etheldrea sighed and rubbed a hand down her face, bad things could only happen form here on out.

“No, no, no, no, no, he’s not good with names.” John excused.

“No, I can get his.” Sherlock said, waving his bow around, “Sarah was the doctor and then there was the one with the spots and then the one with the nose and the  . . . Whose was after the boring teacher?”

Jeannette crossed her arms, “Nobody.”

“Jeanette!” he smiled with fake enthusiasm, “Ah, process of elimination.”

John turned her away and they sat down together in his chair. Molly Hooper walked into the flat at this time holding bags filled with presents, and dressed very sparkly.

“Hello, everyone. Uh, it said on the door just to come up.”

In nearly perfect unison, the room said, “Hello Molly.”

Sherlock muttered sarcastically to himself, “Everybody saying hello to each other, how wonderful!”

Molly took off her jacket, showing the low-cut and revealing dress she wore. John was shocked, as was Lestrade whose mouth fell wide open, entirely speechless. Sam turned bright red and looked away.

“So we’re having a Christmas drinkies, then?” Molly asked.

“No stopping them, apparently.” Sherlock said, sitting down at his laptop and attempting to ignore everyone.

Mrs. Hudson laughed, “It’s the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it’s almost worth it.”

Sherlock called John over, “The counter on your blog. It still says 1895.”

“Oh no, Christmas is cancelled.”

“And you’ve got a photograph of me wearing that hat!”

“People like the hat.”

“No they don’t. What people?”

John went back to his chair and Molly attempted small talk with Mrs. Hudson.

“How’s the hip?”

“Oh, it’s atrocious, but thanks for asking.”

“I’ve seen much worse but then I do post-mortems.”

The room was silent as Molly realized what she had said.

“Oh, god, sorry.”

“Don’t make jokes, Molly.” Sherlock said.

“Sorry,” she said again and then turned to Lestrade, “I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were going to be in Dorset for Christmas?”

“That’s first thing in the morning, after we get Sam back to his mum. Me and the wife, we’re back together, it’s all sorted.”

“No, she’s sleeping with a PE teacher.” Sherlock called.

Lestrade’s smile turned down and he went for another drink. He stood a bit closer to Etheldrea and whispered to her.

“I thought you said she wasn’t sleeping with anyone?”

“I also said yet. That conversation was three weeks ago.” She whispered back.

“Right, sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I should have told you the moment I knew.”

“Wait, when did you know?”

“Isn’t it obvious? The moment you complained about her spending an extra hour on Thursdays. I’ve met your wife; she doesn’t care for extra work and most certainly choose to do so.”

Lestrade took a swig of his drink and Etheldrea winced.

“Sorry. A bit not good?”

“No, but not your fault.”

Etheldrea inched away before she could make anything worse, and went to sit back down. Molly had still been talking to everyone.

Molly looked over to John, “I hear you’re off to your sister’s, is that right? Sherlock was complaining . . . saying.”

“Yep. First time she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze.”

“Nope.” Sherlock countered.

“Shut up, Sherlock!”

“I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him.”

“What?” she asked with a laugh, “Sorry, what?”

“In fact you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift.”

“Take a day off.” John said, knowing this would end badly.


	13. A Scandal in Belgravia Part 5

“Shut up and have a drink.” Lestrade offered to distract him from Molly.

Sherlock ignored him and continued on, “Oh come on, surely you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag. Perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best. It’s for someone special then. The shade of red echoes her lipstick, either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper had _love_ on her mind.”

Etheldrea stood up, “Dad, stop it, now!”

But he continued on, “The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact that she’s even giving him a gift at all. That always suggests long-term hopes, however forlorn, and that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she’s wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and bre – ests.”

The whole room was silent. The smile on his face faded and he gulped when he read the name, and it didn’t take a genius to know the name was his own.

“You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always.”

Sherlock gulped again and seemed to be turning away but he turned back and faced Molly.

“I am sorry. Forgive me. Merry Christmas Molly Hooper.”

While everyone in the room looked surprised, Sherlock leaned in and gave Molly a kiss on the cheek. The sweet moment was interrupted, however, by the erotic tone of Sherlock’s phone.

Molly jumped, “Oh, no! That wasn’t . . . I didn’t!”

“No, it was me.” Sherlock muttered.

“My God, really?” Lestrade asked in shock.

“ _My phone_.”

Etheldrea sat down and turned to Abigail, “Did that really just happen?”

She nodded, “I’m as surprised as you are.”

“Fifty-seven?” John asked.

“Sorry, what?”

“Fifty-seven of those texts, the one’s I’ve heard.”

Etheldrea looked over to John, “I’ve heard another ten when you weren’t in the room.”

Sherlock read the text and turned to the fireplace, detached he replied, “Thrilling that you’ve all been counting.”

He grabbed a small gift of the mantle and excised himself, going to his room. John followed after a moment, and the room slowly turned stale. John came out a moment later after having the door shut in his face. Etheldrea stood and walked over to him, figuring out what was happening. Irene Adler would be turning up dead at some point.

Soon after, Sherlock came out, dressed in his coat and scarf and said he would be back later. He told John and Etheldrea they weren’t coming, and then was gone. Molly was saying good bye around the same time, saying she had a call from work. Mrs. Hudson went down to her flat for a while. Then Abigail had to leave because her parent’s wanted her home before the hour was up.

When she left, Abigail leaned in to Etheldrea and whispered, "Don't worry, I warmed him up for you. Just go over there and be yourself. When he leaves, ask him out for some coffee or tea, or a bagel."

 "What?”

“You know what.” She said with a wink.

Etheldrea sat on the opposite end of the sofa, and Sam went to grab a drink. When he came back, he gestured to the spot next to Etheldrea.  She nodded and he sat down. He took a drink, and she looked ahead, picking at her hands.

“So . . . Is Christmas like this every year?” he asked.

She looked at him, a bit startled, and replied, “No. We’ve never had anyone over.”

“Why not?”

“No one to invite.”

“Ah. That makes sense. Can’t have a party without people. Well you could, but it wouldn’t be as fun.”

She just nodded.

“ . . . So, your dad seems a bit-“

“Eccentric, I know.”

“Ruffled. Are you worried?”

“I’m sorry?”

“He seemed depressed when he left. Do you know what happened?”

“The Woman died.”

“The Woman? Who?”

“A dominatrix.”

He nodded and then shook his head, “Sorry, still confused.”

“She’s involved in a case.”

“Right. Well, what do you like to do? Other than solving crime.”

“Read.”

“That’s it?”

“About.”

“No sports, clubs, cheerleading?”

“Nope.”

“What about plays? Singing? Nothing your dad cheers you on for?”

“Only if I find a homicide. Though I don’t think most dads don’t usually do that.”

“No not really. At least, mine didn’t.”

Etheldrea winced and bit her lip, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“No, about your dad. And your mom. And when I told the entire Yard your parents were fighting and that a divorce was evident.”

His face furrowed in confusion, “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all night?”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t do that. We were kids; you didn’t know what you were talking about.”

“But I did.”

“Oh. Well, don’t worry about. That was years ago.”

Etheldrea looked shocked, “You don’t hate me?”

“No. We were kids.”

She furrowed her brow and looked for him to expand. He shook his head to himself and sighed.

"Look, no one has a perfect home life. Not your friend Abby and not you. At least, it doesn't seem like you do."

 She smiled sadly, "Yeah, you're right. I used to think it was perfect, but now I don't know how I ever thought it was. That's one of the things growing up, isn't it? Nothing can ever be perfect."

 "Well, that's not necessarily true. By society stands, I'm as far from perfect as one can be, but by my standards and few others, I am perfect."

 "The perfect you. That makes sense."

 "And you're the perfect you too."

 "I'm not really. In case you didn't know, I'm rather horrid."

 "I wouldn't change anything."

 "You won't say after getting to know me."

 "Wanna bet? What's your favorite color?"

 "Purple, why?"

 "I'm getting to know you. What sort of horrible person likes purple?

“But, I know everything. You don’t feel like it’s . . . I don’t know, and invasion of privacy?”

“My parents weren’t very good a privacy either way. Our entire street knew the moment he was gone.”

“But- why aren’t you reacting like-”

“-Like a jackass? Currently, you haven’t done anything to insult me, so I think we’re good. What do you say?”

She was stunned for a moment but snapped out of it and said, “Okay. That sounds . . . good.”

Sam took a sip of his drink, and then he started laughing to himself. Etheldrea looked around the room and then back to him, watching him with bafflement.

Still laughing, he said, “Sorry, I just started thinking- What you said before, that’d make a morbid song. ‘Only if I find a homicide.’”

“What?”

He sung and snapped his fingers to a tune, “I’ll always be by your side, but only if I find a homicide.”

Etheldrea laughed, “Are you feeling ok?”

“Never better. Could be the wine, I’m a bit of a light weight, but I think I’d still find it funny. Maybe I’ll write up a full song to that, find someone to put a catchy tune to it. I could send it to you, if you’d like.”

“. . . Sure.” She nodded, “I’d like to see the results.”

“Awesome. Don’t ever move. Two-two-one B Baker Street is the easiest name I’ve ever had to remember.”

“Well, no promises, but I’ll keep watching.”

They talked for another ten minutes, unaware that Lestrade and John were watching, both with smiles on their face. Jeannette meanwhile was looking through her phone, annoyed at John.

“How long until they start dating, do you think?” Lestrade whispered.

“Etheldrea won’t for a while. If they keep in contact and he tries, I’d say at least a year.” John replied equally in a whisper.

“That seems too long.”

“She needs some more confidence. She likes to think it’s because she’s too good, but I think it’s because she thinks she doesn’t deserve it.”

“She’s never seen herself the way we have.”

“Neither has Sherlock. I wish those two would just sit down and sort everything out.”

“Still fighting? Jesus, it’s been almost two months. I mean, I would be pissed too, but to be able to live under the same roof? That takes a lot of guts.”

“Growing up in her family, she would have had to learn. It’s all she knows, but it’s twisted. She can’t figure out the difference between not showing emotions and not having them. She needs more friends.”

“A boyfriend too. I’ve known since they first met, it was so evident.”

“She didn’t write hearts with their initials did she?”

“No, she talked to him, nearly nonstop. Told him everything she knew about him within seconds.”

“It didn’t go so well for her.”

“Of course not. He ended up going to the bathroom and refused to come out until she left. When I saw her leaving, she looked so heartbroken.”

“Poor girl. But now she has a second chance.”

“Yeah, and I’m about to see if I can help set up the first date.”

Lestrade walked over to the door, “We might as well get going. Thanks for the invite John, it was a blast. Well, aside from the whole- you know. Tell him Happy Holidays for me.”

Sam stood up and Etheldrea with him. He walked to Lestrade and said good-bye to John and Jeannette. Etheldrea stood politely by the door with her hands behind her back. Lestrade said goodbye and started walking down the landing.

Sam waited a moment and said to Etheldrea, “There’s shop called Prezi’s where you can grab a cup and add your own toppings. It’s really good, but a little pricey. I go every Saturday afternoon.”

“Okay.”

“So, I’ll see you around.”

He turned and left, and then they were gone. Etheldrea went to the kitchen and grabbed another glass of wine. She took a few sips before she noticed John staring at her.

Etheldrea let put a huge sigh, “It could have gone worse I suppose.”

“So, that him then?” John asked, “The nephew you were head over heels for?”

“I was never head over heels!”

“Alright, maybe not then.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“The way you smiled at him, I’ve never seen it before.”

“You’re imagining things John.”

“Just so you know, I approve.”

“John, no.”

“He did ask you to a coffee date.”

“No he didn’t.”

“He said he goes to Prezi’s every Saturday afternoon.”

“I’m not dating John, never will. Not interested. Nope.”

 “You sure are giving a lot of denial. I wonder how your dad will react. Wait, what about Mycroft? I think that’d be even worse.”

 John’s phone rang and when he checked the ID he said, “It’s your Uncle. See, what’d I tell you?”

Whatever Mycroft said wasn’t good and after a moment, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Etheldrea were combing the flat for any cigarettes, or maybe something stronger, that he had hidden. In a few minutes, they found nothing.

“ _He’s on his way. Have you found anything?_ ”

“No.” John replied, “Did he take the cigarette?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Shit!” he turned to the girls, “He’s coming, ten minutes.”

“Nothing hidden around here.” Etheldrea said from the bookcases.

“There’s nothing in the bedroom.” Mrs. Hudson said.

John turned back to the phone, “Well, it looks like he’s clean. We’ve tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight’s a danger night?”

_“No, but then I never am. Tell Etheldrea she shouldn’t have to worry. She won’t be staying with me anytime soon as far as I can tell. You have to stay with him, John.”_

“I’ve got plans.”

_“No.”_

“Mycroft . . .”

He hung up the phone and sighed, “Ethel, Mycroft said not to worry.”

She smiled weakly and nodded, “Good.”

John walked over to the couch where Jeannette had moved to during the search.

“I am really sorry.” He apologized.

“You know, my friends are so wrong about you. You’re a great boyfriend.”

“Okay, that’s good. I mean, I always thought I was great.”

“And an excellent father. Sherlock and Etheldrea Holmes are very lucky.”

“Jeannette, please.”

She stood up and started to walk to the door. John followed after her.

“No, I mean it. It’s heartwarming. You’ll do anything for them. And he can’t even tell you’re girlfriends apart!”

“No, I’ll do anything for you, just tell me what it is I’m not doing, tell me!”

“Don’t make me compete with Sherlock Holmes!”

“I’ll walk your dog for you. There, I’ve said it now; I’ll even walk your dog.”

“I don’t have a dog!”

“No because that was the last one. Okay.”

“Jesus.”

“I’ll call you.” He said as she walked out.

“No!”

“Okay.”

“That really wasn’t very good, was it?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

Etheldrea said, “I’m so sorry John.”

He didn’t say anything, just sat down in his chair and picked up a book. Etheldrea went to her room and changed into some pajamas before going back picking up where she left off on _The Last Man_. A bit later, Sherlock returned and stood just outside the room. He looked around; taking note of everything he could see just out of place.

“You okay?” John asked.

Sherlock turned and walked to his room, calling out, “I hope you didn’t mess up my sock index this time.”

“Blame Mrs. Hudson.” Etheldrea called.

He gave no response, and his door slammed shut. She glanced towards the door, back to her book, and then stood up. She walked to her room, searched the shelves for a book, and then walked back out. She had grabbed one book and headed for Sherlock’s room. She paused outside the door, took a breath, and walked in.

He was laying on his bed, examining something but quickly hid and looked up at her, annoyed. She ignored the look and walked around to go lie on the other side of the bed. She scooted closer to him, got comfortable, opened the book and started to read.

“Marley was dead: to begin with.  There is no doubt whatever about that.  The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner.  Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.  Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.”

Sherlock watched her for a few moments before adjusting himself comfortably, relaxing and listening. She read through nearly the entire story before she was yawning and losing her places. Around that point, he took the book from her, adjusted so that her head leaned against his shoulder and he could maneuver the pages. By the time he finished, she was asleep.

From the time she came to live with him until she was eight, every Christmas Eve he had read her _A Christmas Carol_. It was something his mother had done with him and Mycroft, and he had passed it onto her. Now, years later, she was instead reading it to him, and it brought him a small comfort.

It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was getting there.


	14. A Scandal in Belgravia Part 6

Things did not go back to normal after Christmas. The next few days at Baker Street were filled with a mournful violin and no cases. Sherlock didn’t seem to bored between the violin and stealing away to his room at various points of the day. He and Etheldrea were still at odds with one and other, but to John’s relief it seemed to be calming down.

The day before New Year’s was still as dreary as the past few days, and the flat resounded with a nearly finished song. Sherlock stood by the window as he played, and Etheldrea sat reading on the sofa as usual. John was preparing to leave when he walked into the room to grab his jacket. Mrs. Hudson was bustling around the flat and went to grab the plate of untouched food from the table.

She looked at John pointedly before taking it to the kitchen and then saying to Sherlock, “Lovely tune, Sherlock. Haven’t heard that one before.”

Sherlock set the violin down and made some notes on the music sheet to his right.

“You composing?” John asked.

“Helps me to think.” Sherlock replied before picking the violin up again and returning to his song.

“What are you thinking about?”

Sherlock put the violin down again, and quickly turned and pointed to the open laptop on the desk, “The counter on your blog is still stuck at one-thousand, eight-hundred and ninety-five.”

“Yes. Faulty, can’t seem to fix it.”

“Faulty, or it’s a message and you’ve been hacked.”

From his dressing gown, he pulled out a phone and typed the number into it. The phone made an error noise and Sherlock looked a bit defeated.

“Just faulty.” He mumbled and went back to the violin.

“Right. Well, I’m going out for a bit.”

John turned and walked to the kitchen. Etheldrea marked her book and walked to the kitchen with him. They stood close together with Mrs. Hudson and talked.

“Listen,” John whispered to them, “Has he ever had any kind of girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship, ever?”

“I don’t know.” Mrs. Hudson whispered.

“Not unless you count Amy Smith. Of course, that entire night was a mistake.” Etheldrea whispered back.

“Now Drea dear, don’t say that. The best thing in the world came out of that night.”

“Yes, a mini-Sherlock running around and causing destruction to the world.”

“So no one.” John said, getting them on track, “How could we not know?”

“He’s Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson replied simply, “How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?”

The three turned to look at him for a moment, and then split up. John went out, Mrs. Hudson went to do some cleaning, and Etheldrea took up the sofa once more. Minutes after he left, Sherlock set the violin down and went to his room. He returned a moment later, dressed and ready to go with his cot and scarf.

“Where are you going?” Etheldrea asked.

“Following John.”

“Can I come?”

“No.”

“Fine. Didn’t want to go anyway.” She huffed.

She continued reading and did so for a while. It was quiet and calm and it irritated Etheldrea to no end. After five days of nothing, there was finally an opportunity to get out and it got away. It straight up told her no and walked away. That bastard.

However, her wishful thinking got her what she wanted as she heard the front door bust open. Mrs. Hudson started screaming, and Etheldrea was rushing down the stairs in seconds. Three men in suits were at the bottom, one she recognized from Irene Adler’s place. The two strangers grabbed Mrs. Hudson, and the man she knew, Neilson, went for her.

Etheldrea ran at him, attempting to tackle him to the ground, but he wasn’t easily taken out. He grabbed her around the shoulders and forced her back. She stopped moving and he pulled her back, making her fall onto the bottom stair. He grabbed her shirt and she struggled to get out of it, no time to care about decency.

The other men were already forcing Mrs. Hudson upstairs. She scratched at the wall and struggled and called for Sherlock, not knowing he was gone.

He said, “If you don’t cooperate, I won’t hesitate to have my men shoot her.”

Etheldrea stopped struggling, stood up and started walking upstairs. She felt a gun press against her and forced herself not to roll her eyes. She walked into the living room where Mrs. Hudson was sitting, crying , and the two men stood by her. Nielson pushed her over to a chair and she took a seat. He motioned to the other henchmen and they walked over to her to restrain her.

“Now, I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

“Yep. Tough luck though, it’s not here. Try going to hell.”

“Really? Because we got word that it’s in the possession of Sherlock Holmes.”

“Then you have the wrong word.”

“It’s simple. Just tell me where it is, and then we’ll leave.”

“You know, I would but I just don’t know.”

He sighed and turned to Mrs. Hudson, “What about you, grandma?”

“I-I’m s-sorry!” she sniveled, “I d-don’t k-know what you w-want.”

“The phone. The camera phone. Where is it?”

“I-I don’t k-know!”

He slapped her, the sound reverberating louder than the violin, and Etheldrea struggled to get up and fight.

She yelled, “Leave her alone! I’m the closest you’ll get to information.”

He walked over, got down to eye level with her and said, “Just. Tell. Me. Where. It. Is.”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

He punched her then, and she kicked him back, hitting down low. He crouched for a minute before getting up and walking over to her. He slapped her too, and by now Mrs. Hudson was in hysterics.

“Leave her alone you big brute!” she was yelling.

“Go stick her in that back room until she calms down.” He told one man.

The man walked with Mrs. Hudson, and Etheldrea was left alone with the other two. The man behind her was squeezing hard on her upper arms; she’d have bruises definitely, and an already swelling black eye to match.

“How about I ask with a please?”

“You can ask all you want. I don’t know where it is.”

“Then I suppose we’ll have to wait.”

“Yep.”

He sighed again and stood up, and then called for his man to bring Mrs. Hudson back. He then had Etheldrea pulled over next to her, and the girls clasped their hands together. They sat there, guns pointed at the backs of their heads until Sherlock showed up.

They heard him enter, taking his time and carefully observing the struggle that had happened downstairs. When he walked up the stairs and into the flat, he was calm, collected, and stone cold as ever.

“Oh Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson sobbed.

“Don’t snivel, Mrs. Hudson, it’ll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet.” He told, stopping in front of them, “What a tender world that would be.”

“Oh, please, sorry, Sherlock.”

Etheldrea glared at him and shook her head.

“I believe you have something we want, Mr. Holmes.” Neilson said.

“Then why don’t you ask for it?” he replied, stepping forward and kneeling down to Mrs. Hudson.

He rolled down her shirt sleeve and looked at the bruising, and then near her collar bone. There was also a small gash on her left cheek, which was obviously from the man behind her; the blood was on his ring.

“I’ve been asking this one, she doesn’t seem to know anything.”

Sherlock moved away from her and then to Etheldrea. He looked her over, reaching up to smooth back her hair as he observed her eye. There was also a gash on her left cheek identical to Mrs. Hudson. He also saw the pressure the boys had on her arms and he too knew bruising would happen, if not already formed. She could see the rage in his eyes intensify and felt giddy about what he would do.

She gave a small smile, “I’m fine.”

“She knew what we want, but not where it is.”

She smirked, “I recall telling you you’d find it in hell.”

One man behind her grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled hard, snapping her head back and probably causing some whiplash.

“You know what I’m asking for, don’t you, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock looked up and him and targeted every location of areas he could injure.

“I believe I do.”

He stood up and stepped away, “First get rid of your boys.”

“Why?”

“I dislike being outnumbered; it makes for too much _stupid_ in the room.”

He considered and said, “You two, go to the car.”

“Then get into the car and drive away. Don’t try to trick me, you know who I am, it doesn’t work.”

Then walked out and left, and Etheldrea leaned back and relaxed. She wouldn’t act until Sherlock told her to.

“Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me.”

“So you can point a gun at me?”

He raised his arms, “I’m unarmed.”

“Mind if I check?”

“Oh, I insist.”

He walked over to Sherlock and patted around his person. Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically and Etheldrea stifled her laughter. Then suddenly, Sherlock whipped out a can of cleaning spray, twisted and sprayed it directly into Nielson’s eyes. Sherlock then reared back and head-butted him in the face. He fell over onto the coffee table, unmoving, unconscious.

“Moron.” Sherlock said, slamming the can onto the table next to him.

He knelt down by Mrs. Hudson and assured her, “You’re all right, you’re all right.”

He looked over at Etheldrea, “When John get back, he can help you with  . . . that.” Referring to her eye.

She nodded and looked at the unconscious man, “Sure. So, what do we do with him?”

Sherlock turned at looked at him, hate clearly evident, and stood up. He led Mrs. Hudson over to the sofa. Etheldrea stood up and walked over. Sherlock dashed to the kitchen and came back scribbling on a slip of paper. He handed it to Etheldrea and told her to go put it on the door. She did and came back to find Sherlock duck tapping Neilson to a chair.

She took a seat next to Mrs. Hudson and did her best to console her while Sherlock picked up the gun and sat down diagonally form them. Only a few minutes later, John walked in.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking over the scene, “Jesus, what the hell is happening?”

“Mrs. Hudson and Etheldrea were attacked by an American. I’m restoring balance to the universe." Sherlock replied, taking out his phone and making a call.

John walked over to the girls and looked them over, “Oh, my god. Are you two all right? Jesus, what have they done to you?”

“I’m just being so silly.” Mrs. Hudson sobbed.

“I’m fine.” Etheldrea assured.

“Downstairs, take them downstairs and look after them. Etheldrea don’t argue.” Sherlock said before she could protest.

John stood them up and walked them towards the door. Etheldrea linked her arms with Mrs. Hudson and took a glance back towards Neilson, smirking as though she knew what fate Sherlock had in store for him.

The girls went to the kitchen and John joined them after getting a first aid kit. Etheldrea grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the fridge and put it over her eye. John tended to the cut on Mrs. Hudson’s face.

“Oh, it stings.” She said.

Suddenly, something fell in front of the window and a loud crashing was heard followed by a groan.

“Oh,” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, that was right on my bins.”

Etheldrea grinned and rushed outside the door. Neilson was lying sprawled on the ground. The window above was open.

“Don’t worry sir,” she said, “I’m sure help is on the way right now.”

“Just after she said that, Sherlock appeared and went to grab him. He pulled him upright and back inside. A couple minutes later, he “fell” through the window again.

“More walking troubles? You poor man. Oh, here comes help now.”

Sherlock barely gave her a glance and continued with “helping Neilson. He only stopped when sirens were heard, and went to defuse the situation with Lestrade. Etheldrea followed him. Lestrade waited until the ambulance left to ask any questions.

“And exactly how many times did he fall out of the window?”

“It’s all a bit of a blur, Detective Inspector. I lost count.”

He looked at Lestrade almost menacingly, and Lestrade looked back between him and Etheldrea before nodding.

“You know, tomorrow’s Saturday.” He said before leaving.

“What’s he mean?” Sherlock asked.

“Drop it.” She replied before turning and going back to Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen.

John was sitting across from Mrs. Hudson. She stood on her left side and comfortingly put a hand on her shoulder.  A moment later, Sherlock walked in, wiped his feed, and raided the fridge.

“She’ll have to sleep in our flat tonight; we need to look after her.”

“She’s fine.”

“No, she’s not, look at her. She’s got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can go and stay with her sister. Doctor’s orders.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“She’s in shock for god’s sake, and all over some bloody stupid camera-phone.”

“Where is it, anyway?”

“Safest place I know.” Sherlock replied, looking over at Mrs. Hudson.

Mrs. Hudson smiled and pulled it out from her shirt, “You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot. I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry.”

“Go Mrs. Hudson!” Etheldrea said, crossing her arms and smiling.

“Shame on you John Watson.” Sherlock said.

“Shame on me?”

“Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall.” He said, putting a hand around her shoulder.

After everything calmed down and John being assured multiple times Mrs. Hudson was fine, everyone split up. John went to flat. Sherlock left for a while. Etheldrea went to change into her pajamas and then went to go read on the sofa, now having switched out the frozen peas for a bag of ice wrapped in a towel.

“Irene Adler’s alive.” John said from his seat.

Etheldrea glanced up, now alarmed, “Really? Well, that’s . . . good, I guess. For dad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s intrigued with her. He’s never really met his match before, at least not one like Irene Alder.”

Soon after, Sherlock came back. He walked in and took of his coat, setting it on a chair. John, who had gotten up and grabbed a drink, walked over to him.

“Where is it now?” he asked.

“Where no one will look.” He replied, picking up his violin and tuning it.

“Whatever’s on that phone is more than just pictures.”

“Yes it is.”

“. . . So, she’s alive then. How are we feeling about that?”

Outside, the clock began to toll.

“Happy New Year John, Ethel.”

“Do you think you’ll be seeing her again?”

Sherlock ignored the question, picked and tossed his bow up, and then started to play _Auld Lang Syne_. John sighed and sat down, and the rest of the night was peaceful. A break in, hostage situation, police cars and an ambulance around, a hurt old woman and a teenager, a woman come back from the dead, and now some less depressing music.

  _A happy new year indeed_ , Etheldrea thought.


	15. A Scandal in Belgravia Part 7

The next day, she was healing, and much of the swelling on her eye was gone, now just a black ring. Sherlock took off to Bart’s and left the other two alone. John was going to leave soon enough though; he had some shopping to do. Etheldrea was to be left on her own, and with only two more days until Christmas Break was over, she was nearly glad for the chance to go back to school. Sure, it was exciting yesterday, but now it was back to a break day. She was bored out of her mind sitting around the flat and was nearly stir crazy.

She had finished her books, listened to the audio books, and had reread several books in the past five days. She even tried looking online at unpublished authors but had to stop after spending most of the time correcting grammar.

Now she lay on the sofa, absently flipping through TV channels and praying for a triple homicide while John was on his blog. There was nothing on, nothing to do and the day was far from over. She would’ve called Abigail, but she and her family were away for a New Year’s party.  Maybe she could call Lestrade; he had to have something for her. She’d take on a missing cat if she had too.

“Surely a Saturday has more to offer.” She groaned.

“Why don’t you go out? Go to a boutique, book shop, coffee place. There’s this fantastic one about forty minutes from here. Really worth it.”

“Yeah? What’s it called?”

“Prezi’s.”

“No thanks.”

“Why not?”

“You know why. Don’t you have some shopping to do?”

“I do. Why don’t you come with me?”

“Can’t be bothered.”

“You were just complaining about doing nothing today.”

“We’ll go to Tesco’s, and afterwards we’ll go to Prezi’s. Trying to get me into a cab, ha, you can’t trick me John.”

“He’s a nice boy. Lestrade and I-“

“Not him too! My god, please don’t try to set me up on dates. Trust me; we both have better things to do with our time. I’m looking for murders, and he’s looking to join the army. We don’t exactly run in the same circle.”

John sighed, “Ok. Alright, I won’t push.”

He stood up and grabbed his jacket, “But, I do think you’re missing out on a wonderful opportunity.”

“Your thinking is noted.”

He left, and Etheldrea was alone. She slumped on the sofa and sighed. On the floor was her laptop and she grabbed. She went to google and pulled up the maps. After searching, she found if she left now she could make it before two.

She shut her laptop down, walked to the door and grabbed her jacket off the back. She paused though when she heard the front door open. The stairs were creaking, and it wasn't the sound of Mrs. Hudson coming up, she had gone out before John. She her jacket down and slowly walked towards the fireplace. The entire time she kept her face towards the door. She reached the fire tools and grabbed one just as a figure entered the room.

 "Don't do anything rash." The figure said.

 Etheldrea sighed and dropped the tool, "What the hell? What are you doing here?"

 "What _you_ doing here?" Irene Adler asked.

 "I _believe_ I live here."

 "What about school?"

 "It’s New Year’s Day. I don't go back until tomorrow."

 "Well then, think of this as gaining another roommate. Only I won't be paying rent."

She started to walk away but Etheldrea stopped her, “Now wait, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Taking a bath. I haven’t had one in a couple days.”

“No, get out. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t call my Uncle on you. Wait, how did you get past his henchmen?”

“Easy if you know a couple of them, and what they like.”

“Of course. Well, if you could “distract” them whenever I call, I’ll forgive you and you can take you’re bath.”

“Forgive me? For what?”

“That stunt you pulled the day we met. Beating me into a wall.”

“You had my phone.”

“You’re not taking a bath.”

“How about I give you an apology instead. I’m sorry I beat you into a wall.”

Etheldrea frowned and crossed her arms, “You can take a bath. I don’t forgive you.”

Adler walked to the bathroom and shut the door. A moment later, Etheldrea heard water running. She blinked, shook her head, and then went back to the door. She picked up her jacket again, but stopped and looked towards the bathroom. She looked back to her jacket and then the bathroom before setting her jacket down and going to sit on the couch. She could have texted her dad or John, but they would be back anyway. They'd figure it out when they got there. A while later, the water shut off, but Irene didn't come out.

 An hour later, Sherlock came up the stairs and John was following behind. Sherlock paused and sniffed the air. Etheldrea gave an innocent looking smile and he glared at her, and then turned around and investigated. John walked in and set a grocery bag on the table.

 "We have a client." Sherlock called.

 "What? In your bedroom?" John asked, walking over.

The pair walked back into the living room and looked at Etheldrea expectantly. She shrugged her shoulders.

“I was leaving when I heard her coming up. Walked in here and said she was out new flat mate. Dad, you’ll have to cover her rent.”

“Leaving?” John asked, “Where?”

“Nowhere.”

He smiled, “Right.”

“Shut up. Dad, you called her a client. Let’s get on with it.”

“She’s asleep.”

* * *

Another hour after that, Irene came into the living room wearing Sherlock’s blue robe. Apparently only the blue robe. She said hello and then went to sit in Sherlock’s chair. Said man wasted no time and pulled out the desk chair and looked to her. Etheldrea sat in John’s chair, watching.

“So who’s after you?” he asked.

“People who want to kill me.”

“Who’s that?”

“Killers.”

John said, “It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific.”

“So you faked you own death in order to get ahead of them?” Sherlock asked.

“It worked for a while.” Irene replied.

“Except you let John you were alive and therefore me.”

“I knew you’d keep my secret.”

“You couldn’t.”

“But you did, didn’t you? Where’s my camera phone?”

John replied, “It’s not here. We’re not stupid.”

“Then what have you done with it? If they guessed you’ve got, they’ll be watching you. Already tried getting to you by the looks of her.” She said nodding towards Etheldrea.

“If they’ve been watching me, they’ll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few days ago.”

“I need it.”

John said, “Well we can’t just go and get it, can we? Molly Hooper, she could collect it and take it to Bart’s. Then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café, and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back.”

Sherlock nodded, “Very good, john, excellent plan, full of intelligent precautions.”

“Thank you. So why don’t I phone-“

Sherlock pulled the camera phone out of his pocket and John sighed.

Etheldrea smiled, “You’re getting there John.”

“So,” Sherlock said, “what do you keep on here? In general, I mean?”

Irene stood up, “Pictures, information, anything I might find useful.”

“For blackmail?” John asked.

“For protection. I make my way in the world, I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be.”

“So how do you acquire this information?” Sherlock asked.

“I told you, I misbehave.”

“But you’ve acquired something that’s more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?”

“Yes. But I don’t understand it.”

“I assumed. Show me.”

She reached for the phone but Sherlock held it back, “The passcode.”

She was stubborn though and Sherlock relented. He gave her the phone and she typed in a code. The phone made an error noise and she frowned.

“It’s not working.”

Sherlock grabbed the phone and went to his chair, “No, because it’s a duplicate that I had made in which you’ve just entered the numbers one-oh-five-eight. I assumed you’d choose something more specific than that, but thanks anyway.”

He smirked and entered the code, but was greeted with an error message. Irene had outsmarted him, something Etheldrea only came very close to doing.

“I told you that camera-phone was my life. I know when it’s in my hand.”

“Oh, you’re rather good.” Sherlock replied.

“You’re not so bad.” Irene said,

Etheldrea felt her mouth drop. Never had she seen her dad flirt, but this was probably the closet he’d ever come to it. John looked confused, trying to understand.

“Hamish.” John said, “John Hamish Watson, just if you were looking for baby names.”

John hardly revealed his middle name. In fact, Sherlock had stolen his birth certificate to figure it out. Etheldrea looked between her father and Irene.

“I’m not calling her mum.” She said pointy.

Both Irene and Sherlock ignored her.

“There was a man,” Irene said walking around and pulling up an email on her phone, “an MOD official and I knew what he liked. One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn’t know it, but I photographed it. He was a bit tied up at the time.”

Sherlock took the phone and examined the email.

“It’s a bit small on that screen, can to read it?” Irene asked.

“Yes.”

“Code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it, though he was mostly upside-down as I recall. Couldn’t figure it out. What can you do, Mr. Holmes? Go on impress a girl.”

Irene leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek and Etheldrea looked disgusted.

Sherlock said quickly, “There’s a margin for error but I’m pretty sure there’s a seven forty seven leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it’s going to save the world, I’m not sure how that can be true, but give me a moment I’ve only been on the case for right seconds.”

Sherlock looked around at the group, seeing their confused looks and he sighed.

“Oh come on, it’s not code, these are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look! There’s no letter I because it can be mistaken for a one. No letter past K, the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence, but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place. Families and couples sitting together. Only a jumbo is wide enough to need a letter K or rows past fifty five, which is why there’s always an upstairs. There’s a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there’s the style of the flight number, zero zero seven, which eliminates a few more. And assuming the British point of origin, which would be logical, considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow airport.”

He looked at Irene, “Please don’t feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John’s expressed that thought in every possible variant available to the English language.”

She smiled, “I would have you right here, on this desk, until you begged for mercy, twice.”

There was a long pause where Sherlock stared at Irene, and John and Etheldrea started at the both of them.

“John,” Sherlock said, “please can you check those flight schedules, see if I’m right?”

He cleared his throat, “Right. I’m on it, yeah.”

To Irene he said, “I’ve never begged for mercy in my life.”

“Twice.” She replied.

John said, “Uh, yeah, you’re right, flight double oh seven.”

Sherlock looked at him, “What did you say?”

“You’re right.”

“No, no, after that, what did you say after that?”

“Double oh seven. Flight double oh seven.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he stepped towards the door while chanting, “Double oh seven. Double oh seven.”

Etheldrea turned and watched him as he paced about, thinking. The gears in her head were turning too, but she couldn’t put her tongue on it, only thinking about the Bond movies John insisted on watching a while after they had met. Then, Sherlock turned and looked at the door now seeing something he hadn’t before.

* * *

Sherlock sat in his chair, absent mindedly plucking at his violin. John left a few minutes ago, and only Etheldrea and Irene remained. Currently, both women were staring at each other, seemingly unimpressed with the situation.

 "So," Irene said, "You're a bastard child."

 Etheldrea rolled her eyes, "Why does it matter?"

 "And your dad never cared about any other woman?

 "Again, why does it matter?"

 "You've never had someone to call Mummy?"

 "I don't need to discuss our private life with you."

 "Must have been hard growing up. Not having someone you can talk to about girl things. No Mother’s Day, or the like. No one to talk about boys with, well, maybe you could do that. But, it must have bothered you a bit."

 "Actually, no. Not at all. My grandmother and Mrs. Hudson make perfect substitutes. Better than the real thing actually."

“Really now, and how would you know.”

“I met the bitch. Pardon my language.”

“Not exactly the home loving type then. But you had him at least.”

“Not for the first three months of my life.” She said sullenly.

“I know about the hospital. Malnourishment, dehydration. You were there for a couple weeks as they tried to get you back to normal. Stuck in one of those boxes so they could hook you up to all the machines. But, he found you and took you in. Raised you.”

“Please shut up.”

“You shouldn’t be alive, from what I read.”

“Well, here I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go chat with my landlady.”

“Why?”

She stood up and walked to the door, “I’m not much a fan conversing about me.”

“Sorry then. I’m just trying to understand why-

“Why he’d want me? Believe me; I’ve wondered it too many times myself.”

“No, why _she_ wouldn’t want you. You’re an intelligent girl, Miss Holmes, much like your dad. I’d be very proud if you were my child.”

Etheldrea smirked a bit, “And you aren’t now?”

She turned and walked downstairs. Mrs. Hudson was doing the dishes and Etheldrea helped with the drying and putting away. Only a few minutes later, there was knocking at the door. Etheldrea went to answer it, telling Mrs. Hudson the bell still wasn’t working. At the door, she found the man who had escorted them to the place there.

“May I talk to your father, Miss Holmes?” he asked.

“Do I get to come?” she asked.

“I feel as though I won’t have a choice in whether you do or not, so yes.”

“Come on in.”

She led him upstairs and called for her dad. She stood outside the door, just in time to see Irene walk past towards her father’s bedroom, out of site of the other man and Mrs. Hudson.

“Have you come to take me away again?” Sherlock asked, annoyed.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes.”

“Well, I decline.”

“I don’t think you do.”

A moment later, Sherlock was walking out the door, ready to go. He had grabbed Etheldrea’s coat and scarf and passed them to her. They walked down stairs and to the car, and got in. Etheldrea took the far left side and Sherlock took the far right.

“There’s going to be a bomb on a passenger jet.” Sherlock said, “The British and American governments know about it, but rather than expose the source of their information, they’re going to let it happen. The plane will blow up. Coventry all over again. The wheel turns, nothing is ever new.”

As they pulled up to the plane hangars, Etheldrea saw the large jet waiting. There weren’t lights coming from it, only leading to it. For some reason, she felt a sense of unease looking at it, and just knew this would be a long night.


	16. A Scandal in Belgravia Part 8

_Three months later_

On a raining weekend, Etheldrea sat next to her father at the kitchen table. Her hair was clipped back and far as it could go, and she worn some google more suited for a shooting range than chemical splash. In one hand she held a beaker with a clear liquid and in the other a dropper with another clear liquid.

“One drop at a time.” Sherlock said, as he looked into a microscope.

John was walking up the stairs, his footsteps quick and eager. Sherlock didn’t even look up.

“Clearly you’ve got news. If it’s about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Nobody noticed the earring.”

“Hi. Uh, no, it’s um . . . it’s about Irene Adler.” John said as he walked in.

Sherlock looked up, “Well? Something’s happened. Has she come back?”

“No, no, she’s . . . I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs, he had to take a call.”

Sherlock stood up and walked towards him, “Is she back in London?”

“No. She’s uh . . .” he took a deep breath, “She’s in America.”

“America?” Sherlock asked.

“Mmm-hmm. Got herself on a Witness Protection scheme, apparently. I don’t know how she swung it but, uh . . . Well, you know.”

It was so painfully obvious that John was lying, but Etheldrea didn’t say a word. Sherlock didn’t either. She continued with her chemicals, waiting for the reactions.

“I know what?” Sherlock asked.

“Well you won’t be able to see her again.”

“Why would I want to see her again?” Sherlock asked and turned to go sit back down.

“Didn’t say you did.”

“Is that her file?”

“Yes, I was just going to take it back to Mycroft. Do you want to-“

“No.”

There was a long silence before John started to talk.

“Listen, actually-“

“No, but I will have the camera-phone, though.” He held out a hand.

“There’s nothing on it any more. It’s been stripped.”

“I know but I- I’ll still have it.”

“I’ve got to give this back to Mycroft, you can’t keep It.” he still held his hand out, “Sherlock, I have to give this to Mycroft, it’s the government’s now.”

“Please.”

Etheldrea asked, “What are they going to do with it? They have what they wanted.”

John sighed and took it out and then placed it on Sherlock’s palm. His fingers closed around it and he placed it in his pocket.

“Thank you.”

“Well, I better take this back.”

John turned and walked just outside the door but stopped and turned back to face them.

“Did she ever text you again after all that?” he asked.

“Once, a few months ago.”

“What did she say?”

“Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.”

John turned back and walked down the stairs. Once he was gone, Sherlock stood up and walked to the window. He tossed the camera-phone in the air and chuckled to himself. Then he placed it in a drawer.

“The Woman.” He said, “The Woman.”

Etheldrea watched him with a small smile on her face, failing to notice the clear liquid had turned a bright pink. Sherlock walked back towards her, a smile on his face too.

“Good job.” He said, “Now, what is it?”

She looked at the beaker, “It’s a base. I need to run some other tests before I can determine the exact chemical though.”

“Good and what can you do?”

“At my disposal are several metals. I can check the corrosion, the solubility, and if that works, also the density. It’s one of four chemicals, which you told me the names, so I just need to remember the- wait, hydrogen peroxide is the only base you mentioned.”

He nodded, “Excellent. You have one, now you can narrow down the other three. I’m proud; we’ll make a Chemistry Major of you yet.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes, “Sorry, but I’m not going for Chemistry. I technically don’t have to go at all. The yard accepts applications regardless of degree at eighteen. I _could_ start working full time come this fall. Maybe I will.”

“You aren’t dropping out of school.” He said seriously, a frown now formed.

She laughed, “I know. I’m just messing with you.”

He smiled again, “Now, what if two of the liquids have the exact same characteristics. How will you know which is which?”

Etheldrea looked at the three bottles of clear liquid on the table, then at a clock on the counter, and then looked back at her dad.

“Confession. I watched you pour the chemicals. Left to right, Hydrochloric, Perchloric, and Acetic. Sorry.”

She stood up, ignoring Sherlock’s dumbfounded look, and went to get her jacket and scarf.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m meeting someone.”

“In this weather?”

“At a coffee shop, plenty warm there. I need to go now, though or I might be late. I’ll be back later.”

She walked downstairs and outside. Her Uncle was just leaving, passing by her as he walked out of the café.

“Care for a ride?” he asked.

“It’s a long way away.”

“I have the time.”

“Sure, thanks. A coffee shop called Prezi’s.”

They got into the always black car and drive off. Mycroft and Etheldrea both played with their phones, not talking to one another out of habit. One they arrived, Etheldrea said goodbye and walked towards the doors.

She stopped though before opening. Looking in, she saw Sam right away but opposite him was another girl, brunette and tan skin. They were holding hands, said appendages on the table. He was laughing at something she said.

Her throat closed up a bit and she started thinking back. Back to the last time she had seen Irene Adler.

* * *

The car came to a stop outside the stairs leading into the jet. Sherlock and Etheldrea got out and walked over, finding a slightly recovering Neilson waiting.

“Well, you’re looking all better. How are you feeling?” Sherlock asked, and then started walking up the steps.

“Like putting a bullet in your brain, sir. They’d pin a medal on me if I did, _sir_.”

Etheldrea stopped in front of him, glaring, and then slammed the heel of her boot onto his foot. He hissed and cursed, and fell back. Etheldrea smirked and followed after Sherlock.

The inside of the pane was dark, nearly pitch black, and filled to the brim with people. She was confused as to why the hell they would be boarded now. Stepping past Sherlock, flipped on a light and looked at two people, seeing their pale almost ashen faces. Her eyebrows scrunched, and she looked around. Some realization dawned on her.

“D-dad? Do you hear anyone breathing?”

Behind her, making her jump, Mycroft said, “The Coventry conundrum. What do you think of my solution?”

Etheldrea turned and walked towards her dad, facing away from her Uncle and latching onto Sherlock’s sleeve. She felt numb.

“The flight of the dead.”

Sherlock said, “Plane blows up midair, mission accomplished for the terrorists, hundreds of casualties but nobody dies.”

“Neat, don’t you think?”

“Bordering on creepy for me.” Etheldrea mumbled.

He ignored her, “You’ve been stumbling around the fringes of this one for ages. Or were you too _bored_ to notice the pattern?”

Suddenly, some cases made sense. All the people who couldn’t see their loved ones, or in some cases had the wrong ash, those bodies were here.

“We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn’t make the flight. But, that’s the deceased for you, late in every sense of the word.”

The August case, right before they had left for Italy.

Sherlock asked, “How is the plane going to fly? Oh, of course, unmanned aircraft, hardly new.”

“It doesn’t fly. It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can’t fool them now. We’ve lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning, finished.”

Uncle Mycroft sounded so calm, collected, and that’s when she actually feared him. He could have anyone killed in this moment, even them. He was dangerous now, and hiding behind a cool exterior that threated to breakdown.

“Your MOD man.” Sherlock said.

“That’s all it takes. One lonely, naïve man, desperate to show off, and a Woman clever enough to make him feel special.”

“You should screen your defense people more carefully.”

His voice rising, Mycroft shouted, “I’m not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock, I’m talking about you!”

Etheldrea saw a figure walking towards them though the curtains small slit. When they passed through, she was only just a bit shocked. All the pieces were clicking into place. Irene Adler was behind all this, and had used her father.

Mycroft went back to his cool tone, “A damsel in distress. In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook. The promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption. Then give him a puzzle and watch him dance.”

“Don’t be absurd!”

“Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute? Or were you really eager to impress?”

“I think it was less than five seconds.” Irene said.

“I drove you into her path. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk.” Irene walked forward.

Sherlock replied, “So do I. There are a number of aspects I’m not quite clear on.”

She dismissed him and pushed past them both, “Not you, Junior, you’re done now. There’s more, loads more. On this phone I’ve got secrets and pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me. Unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother.”

* * *

At her Uncle’s house, in the sitting room she sat opposite her father. Irene and Mycroft sat at the table, one looking tired and exasperated, and the other like she had won a prize. And in a way, she had.

“We have people who can get into this.” Mycroft said.

“I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for a week. Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you x-rayed my camera-phone.”

Sherlock replied, “There are four additional units wired inside the casing. I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive. Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive.”

“Explosive. It’s more me.”

Mycroft sighed, “Some data is always recoverable.”

“Take that risk.”

“You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you.”

“Sherlock?”

“There will be two passcodes, one to open the phone and one to burn the drive.” Sherlock sighed, “Even under duress, you can’t know which one she’s given you and there would be no point in a second attempt.”

“Oh, he’s good, isn’t he? I should have him on a leash. In fact, I might.”

“Minor in the room.” Etheldrea said.

“You’re only seventeen, you’re not that far.”

“Etheldrea, shut up.” Mycroft said, and then turned to Irene, “We destroy this, then. No one has the information.”

“Fine. Good idea. Unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you’re about to burn.”

“Are there?”

“Telling you would be playing fair. I’m not playing anymore.” she reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope, “A list of my requests and some idea about my protection once they’re granted. I’d say it wouldn’t blow much of a hole in the wealth of a nation, but then I’d be lying. I imagined you’d like to sleep on it?”

Mycroft looked over the demands list, “Thank you, yes.”

“Too bad. Off you pop and talk to people.”

In spite of the situation, Etheldrea smirked to herself. Irene was good, really good, and made an excellent manipulator. No wonder her dad was impressed, so was she.

Mycroft sighed, “You’ve been very thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you.”

“I can’t take all the credit; I had a bit of help. Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love.”

Etheldrea took a deep breath. That name sent waves of anger rolling everywhere. Without him in her life, in the world at all, everything would be much easier and happier.

“Yes, he’s been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention which I’m sure can be arranged.”

“I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank god for the consulting criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes family. Do you know what he calls you? The Ice Man . . . and the Prude.  He often talks about Etheldrea too, how rare it is to find a girl like her, so innocent and faithful and fearless. Exactly like your name, the Diamond. He told me once, he’s a man who likes to crush diamonds. Didn’t even ask for anything, I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that’s my kind of man.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her dad’s hand clench and unclench. He was more affected by her words than she was. To her it was just talk, nothing more.

“And here you are. The dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played.”

“No.” Sherlock said, prompting everyone to look at him.

“Sorry?” Irene asked.

“I said no.” Sherlock turned and stood up, walking towards her “Very, very close, but no. You got carried away. The game was too elaborate; you were enjoying yourself too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much.”

“Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathize entirely, but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.”

Etheldrea clenched her teeth and fists and looked down from the spectacle. It wasn’t a surprise to hear him say it, but she herself was a sentiment.

“Sentiment?” Irene asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You.”

“Oh dear god. Look at the poor man. You don’t actually think I was interested in you? Why because you’re the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?”

“No.” He leaned in close to her and took her hand, “Because I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils dilated.”

He reached past her and grabbed her phone and turned away, walking towards Etheldrea, and then turned back to Irene. Etheldrea stood up and stood behind her father, looking at the phone.

 “I imagine John Watson thinks love’s a mystery to me, but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive. When we first met, you told me that a disguise is always a self-portrait, how true of you, the combination to your safe – your measurements. But this, this is far more intimate. This is your heart, and you should never let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you worked for. But you just couldn't resist it, could you? I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof.”

Etheldrea watched him type the digits in, seeing the phase I AM SHER LOCKED. Irene grabbed his hand, her eyes watering and desperate.

“Everything I said, it’s not real.” She whispered, “I was just playing the game.”

“I know. And this is just losing.”

He turned the phone to her and she saw the code, horrified. Tears ran down her face, and Etheldrea felt only a little sorry for her. But, Irene’s actions outweighed any grief she had for her.

Sherlock passed the phone to Mycroft, “There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight.”

“I’m certain they will.”

Sherlock turned away and grabbed Etheldrea’s hand, gently pulling her towards the door, “If you’re feeling kind, lock her up, otherwise let her go. I doubt she’ll survive long without her ‘protection’.”

“Are you expecting me to beg?”

“Yes.” Sherlock stopped and waited.

“Please.” Irene said but Sherlock didn’t move, “You’re right. I won’t even last six months.”

“Sorry about dinner.” And then he walked out.

Etheldrea followed her father out to the front where a black car was waiting for them. The driver opened the door; she sat on the left side, buckled in, and concentrated on the world outside. Sherlock got into the car, and to her surprise, scooted a seat over directly next to her.

 "Are you alright?” He asked as they started driving away.

 "Me? I'm fine. But, what about you?"

 "I'm fine. Are you sure? You were tense during the entire conversation."

 "Yes, well I thought you liked her?"

 "I did. She's very intriguing. She nearly bested me."

 "But now, she's probably going to end up dead."

 "That's her own fault."

 "But don't you want to, I don't know, see her again?"

 Sherlock was confused for a moment but shook his head and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She stiffened for only a moment and then relaxed.

 "The only women I need in my life are Mrs. Hudson and _you_." He replied.

 "But are we the only you want in your life?"

 He thought a moment before replying, "No. There's your grandmother, Abigail, and Molly."

 Etheldrea was bewildered, "Abigail?"

 "I do like that you have a friend, you know."

 "Alright, but you don't ever want to- never mind."

 "What were you going to say?"

 "Nothing, let’s just leave it. Everything's been said and done.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It doesn’t matter; I know your thoughts and feelings on the subject. You said them out loud and clear.”

 She wiggled away from him, shrugged his arm off her shoulders, and went back to looking out the window. Sherlock recalled the night and exactly what he said.

 "This is about what I said. Chemical defects."

 Etheldrea didn't reply.

 "I would rather lose a thousand times to Moriarty than to lose you forever. I nearly have so many times."

 "See, I just get in the way."

 "No you don't."

 "Right."

 For a bit, he didn't know what to say. Every time he talked it only seemed to hurt her and he was tired of that. He reached his arm around her shoulders again, and she relented and leaned into him. He ran a hand through her hair just like he had when she was younger.

 "I’m sorry I've been such a brat." She mumbled.

 "I think you've been well within your rights to be a brat."

 "Well, yeah, but now I feel bad about it."

 "If it’s any consolation, it hasn't really changed anything. Perhaps the frequency, but not too much."

 "Jee, thanks. That's such great reassurance." She laughed sarcastically.

 "I try."

 "I know." she sighed, "Trust me, I know you do."

 ". . . Ethel, I never want for you to think you were unwanted because you really are. I am truly sorry I never told you, and for lying."

 "It's ok. I forgive you. Honestly, I think I forgave you a couple days ago."

* * *

Etheldrea turned away from the coffee shop door and walked back down the road. Love was a dangerous emotion. It caused pain and anger. But, it also caused happiness, motivation, and even hope. So, as she walked away from the coffee shop and back towards the black car, she wasn’t sad. Everything in the world just needed time.

* * *

She closed her eyes and relaxed. Everything was said and she felt a weight drop off her shoulders, as did Sherlock. The car was now silent, the only noise was breathing from the two of them and the driver.

So quiet that only she could hear, Sherlock whispered, "I love you."

 As equally quiet she whispered back, "I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The Greatest Man is next up! Coming shortly.


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